


Yeah, It's Me

by CallieB



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: (if it's not alright then it's not yet the end), Abusive Neil Hargrove, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angry Steve Harrington, Angst, Angst and Porn, Angst with a Happy Ending, Billy Hargrove & Maxine "Max" Mayfield Bonding, Billy Hargrove Needs a Hug, Billy likes following orders okay, Bottom Billy Hargrove, D/s if you squint, Enemies to Lovers, Hate Sex, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mild D/s, Mostly Canon Compliant, Neil Hargrove's A+ Parenting, Past Steve Harrington/Nancy Wheeler, Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series 02, Post-Season/Series 03, So much angst, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, Steve Has Issues, Top Steve Harrington, but everything is alright in the end, canon compliant if it turned out Steve and Billy had a ton of hate sex in between S2 and S3, like the beginnings of D/s, we're not exactly nancy fans in this bar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:01:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21733420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallieB/pseuds/CallieB
Summary: “You want it,” Billy jeers. That’s what Billy does, he pushes, healwayspushes, and Steve’s mouth twists - but he doesn’t deny it.He just… turns. Not much, just the most infinitesimal fraction, but his hips turn, and he’s facing Billy just the tiniest bit more than he was before and… and it’s enough. It’s enough for Billy to be sure.He lunges forward, and his mouth meets Steve’s in a clatter of teeth.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 87
Kudos: 734
Collections: Harringrove Holiday Exchange 2019





	Yeah, It's Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [black_wings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/black_wings/gifts).



> This. Oh my God. This story. This story got away from me SO GODDAMN MUCH!
> 
> I had this idea of filling the period between S2 and S3 with hate sex, and I started writing it, and ALMOST 30k WORDS LATER I FINALLY DREW BREATH. 
> 
> I have never written so much smut in one go, Jesus Christ. But man, it was fun! I really hope you like it [black_wings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/black_wings/pseuds/black_wings), I really enjoyed writing it for you, and happy holidays!
> 
> I have to thank [ihni](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ihni/pseuds/Ihni) from the absolute depths of my heart - you are an absolute star, thank you so much for reading through this monster for me and helping me sort it into some kind of order! Especially the ending, it would absolutely not be what it is without you, so thank you!
> 
> Enjoy!

“Yeah, it’s me, don’t cream your pants,” Harrington said, and it’s funny because it’s _not funny_ , and Billy beats the shit out of him.

On balance, he’s glad he didn’t actually kill him. Who the fuck would he look at in the showers then?

Harrington is out of school for a week or so, and then he’s back and his face is a pattern of fading bruises, pink and yellow and purple, almost beautiful in the way the colours are layered over each other. Billy’s patchwork quilt isn’t so visible, all the marks hidden underneath his clothes.

So it goes on. They hate each other. Billy wants him, wants to claim him and own him, but Harrington would never want that—

Harrington wants it.

They’re the last two left in the locker room after basketball practice. Harrington is slow, and Billy lingers on purpose to match him - can’t help himself, can’t help sneaking little glances over at Harrington, hating him and not hating him all at the same time.

“Hot date tonight, Harrington?” he asks with a smirk, watching Harrington smooth gel into his hair, examining himself in the stained mirror above the sinks. 

“Fuck off, Billy,” Harrington says. He sounds tired, like he’s above Billy’s bullshit.

Nobody is above Billy’s bullshit. He crowds in close, because that’s what he _does_ when someone challenges him, comes in close and intimidating and pressing his body right up against Harrington’s, and he says, menacingly: “What did you say to me?”

They’re almost gone, the bruises, but the memory is still there. Or it should be. But Steve doesn’t look afraid. He just shoves one shoulder, pushing Billy back. “I said, _fuck off_ ,” he says.

“Or what?” Billy’s heart is beating, too hard, too loud. 

“Or—” And Harrington half turns, towards Billy, and suddenly it’s like they both realise how close they are at the same time. Mouths so close, bodies up against each other, breathing hard. Billy can smell the cheap raspberry soap the school puts in the showers in Steve’s hair. 

He’s hard. Wanting Steve isn’t _new_ , he always wants Steve, noticed him the first day of school and hasn’t really stopped since. But this is the first time since that night at the Byers’ that he’s felt like he has a chance, like there’s something there, hot and heavy and full of tension. Did he have a chance then? Maybe, if there hadn’t been a house full of kids, if they’d just been allowed to fight and yell and lash _out_ —

Maybe not. 

Steve just stands there, his chest heaving, up and down - and then his eyes flicker, from Billy’s eyes down to his _mouth_.

“You want it,” Billy jeers. That’s what Billy does, he pushes, he _always_ pushes, and Steve’s mouth twists - but he doesn’t deny it.

He just… turns. Not much, just the most infinitesimal fraction, but his hips turn, and he’s facing Billy just the tiniest bit more than he was before and… and it’s enough. It’s enough for Billy to be sure.

He lunges forward, and his mouth meets Steve’s in a clatter of teeth.

It’s a shock, of course. Steve wanted it, his body betrayed him, but he wasn’t expecting Billy to actually do something about it. For a moment, he’s still under Billy’s furious attack on his lips, and then a deep groan pulls out of him, and his hands grip Billy’s forearms, and he’s kissing back. He’s _kissing back_.

It’s not much of a kiss, all angry tongue, more like a fight than a kiss - Steve nips Billy’s lower lip with his teeth, and Billy moans in response and digs his fingernails into Steve’s hips. Steve is wearing a green polo shirt, and he shouldn’t be, so Billy tears it up, up over his lean muscular chest, and forces them to separate so he can strip the shirt right off Steve’s back.

It’s only a second apart, but already Billy feels cold without the heat of Steve _on_ him. He looks up, and for a moment Steve just looks _lost_.

Then it’s gone, and Steve launches himself at Billy again, one strong hand coming up to wrap around the back of Billy’s neck. 

“Jesus,” Billy pants, as Steve mouth finds his throat. “Jesus, Harrington, _Jesus_ —”

“Shut up,” Steve spits. There’s so much _venom_ in his voice that Billy actually takes a step backwards.

It doesn’t matter. Steve follows him, rips Billy’s t-shirt right off him, and then he’s back to sucking on Billy’s neck, pushing him backwards until his back hits the lockers with a crash.

Billy is painfully aware that he still has traces of yellowing bruises on his hips; they’re faint, though, and Steve isn’t really looking. He’s got Billy’s arms pinned against the lockers, and his teeth are scraping Billy’s skin, and Billy is writhing and panting underneath the touch. He feels like he’s on fire, skin burning under every point of contact.

Steve bites his nipple, and his moan turns into an actual _cry_. It’s humiliating but Billy doesn’t care, he doesn’t _care_ , he’s so hard he wants to die, and he manages to get his leg hooked around the back of Steve’s calf, drawing him in tighter, closer.

“What do you want?” Steve hisses, breathless. He’s flushed, his eyes dark and beautiful, and Billy doesn’t even know the answer. He’s never seen Steve like this, angry and powerful and tearing Billy apart.

“Please,” he gasps, and he doesn’t care that he sounds like a pussy. “Steve, just—”

But at the sound of his name Steve groans, and kisses Billy again, mouth hot and hard. He turns them around, so that Steve’s the one with his back to the lockers, and his head tips back as Billy kisses his shoulder, his neck, his chest.

“Suck me off,” Steve says. He says it so quietly that Billy almost misses it, and when Billy looks at him he’s still got his head tipped back against the lockers, and he’s not looking at Billy. There are two spots of colour in his cheeks.

Billy leans in, and lets himself smile cruelly. “You want my mouth,” he taunts. “You want my mouth, Harrington—”

“Do it, or fuck off.” Steve’s voice is flat. 

There’s a silence, a beat, and Billy only has that tiny piece of time to decide. He doesn’t like being told what to do. _Harrington_ doesn’t get to tell him what to do. Harrington - Harrington is nothing. He’s not even King Steve, anymore. Billy doesn’t have to do what he wants, doesn’t have to humiliate himself just because Harrington wants him to, doesn’t have to do _anything_ if he doesn’t want to—

As if there’s a choice.

He sinks to his knees, feeling the tiled floor hard underneath them as he hits the ground. Steve still isn’t looking at him; Billy reaches for Steve’s belt, fingers fumbling to unbuckle it. His palm grazes Steve’s cock through his pants, and Steve shudders, a full-bodied vibration radiating through his body. Billy’s breathing too hard, and he doesn’t understand, he doesn’t understand why he’s so desperate to see Steve’s cock, but he is.

Slowly, he tugs down the zipper on Steve’s pants, eases them over his hips and down his legs. He can feel Steve shiver as his hands brush the soft skin of his thighs; his legs are trembling, just slightly, and there’s a wet patch on his boxers. He’s still looking up at the ceiling, and Billy wishes, he _wishes_ Steve would look at him.

He doesn’t, and after a moment Billy reaches forward and tugs his boxers down as well.

His first thought is that Steve is _huge_. He’s rock hard, leaking, desperate, but Billy can’t do anything except stare. He’s never seen anyone else’s cock so close up. He’s never seen anyone else’s cock hard like this.

Carefully, he ghosts the tips of his fingers along Steve’s length, and Steve groans softly, hips rolling. Billy feels his stomach flip over.

He kneels up, holds Steve’s cock still in one hand as he brings his lips to the tip. He has no idea what he’s doing, no idea how to make Steve feel good, but he knows he has to try. Has to make Steve feel good, has to make him feel good enough that he doesn’t tell Billy to stop. Billy can’t stop, not now. He’s in way too deep.

He slides his tongue over the head of Steve’s cock, and Steve rewards him with another soft moan. Emboldened, Billy licks down the shaft, moving his hand slowly up and down. It feels weird, alien, an unfamiliar taste of heat and sex; he sucks Steve’s dick into his mouth, tries to see how far he can reach. Steve _groans_ , and his hand comes down heavily onto Billy’s head, fingers tightening in his hair. It feels so fucking good, and Billy has to stop himself from leaning into the touch.

Billy finds a rhythm, sucking and licking and gasping around Steve’s cock, his hand pumping the length he can’t reach. Once or twice, Steve slips too far, and Billy has to pull back, coughing. Steve doesn’t wait for him to recover, just pushes insistently against Billy’s lips, and Billy swallows him back down with a moan. It shouldn’t be hot, sucking someone else off, shouldn’t make him feel as hard and turned-on and desperate as he does, but somehow Billy’s erection is straining in his pants and his breath is coming in short hard gasps and he needs - he wants - he _needs_ —

“Don’t stop,” Steve mumbles, writhing against the lockers above him. “Don’t stop.”

So Billy doesn’t stop, keeps lapping at Steve’s cock, but with his free hand he’s fumbling with his belt buckle and reaching into his boxers to touch himself, because he needs it. He needs to feel it. And sure, he wishes it wasn’t his own hand, wishes somehow Steve could touch him too, but he can’t wait for that. He needs to feel something.

He’s so close it takes him by surprise. It’s ridiculous, but as soon as Billy wraps a hand around himself he knows he’s nearly there. He lets out a muted, desperate cry as he jacks himself off, and it’s enough for Steve to finally look down at him.

Billy has no idea what he looks like, kneeling on the grimy floor with his shirt off and his cock out, his mouth wrapped around Steve’s dick, but there must be something there that Steve likes, just a little, because his eyes widen and he makes a low anguished noise that has Billy’s stomach clenching almost painfully.

“Fuck,” Steve says, and then he’s coming in Billy’s mouth without the slightest bit of warning.

It makes Billy choke, the sudden flood overwhelming him, and for a moment he’s not aware of anything except the fact that he can’t breathe properly, and there’s come on his face and in his mouth and dripping down his chin, and his whole body is wracked with hacking coughs.

It should be disgusting. It should make him want to throw up. 

Instead, it makes him come.

It happens so suddenly that he’s barely aware of it until it’s done. Throughout his coughing fit, his hand is still moving mechanically on his cock, and then he feels the familiar tightening rush, and he spills all over his own fist. It’s fast, intense, and he wants to yell but he doesn’t, and then it’s over.

“Jesus,” he pants. His eyes are prickling, and his voice is hoarse. “ _Jesus_.”

“Yeah.” Harrington’s voice is oddly flat, and when Billy looks up at him, he’s looking away.

Suddenly, Billy feels cold.

He stands up. His legs feel shaky, almost unable to support his own weight, and he’s abruptly aware that his face is a fucking mess. He’s absolutely _covered_ in Harrington’s spunk, cold and wet and starting to crust over on his cheeks and chin. He feels gross, and way too naked.

It doesn’t seem like Harrington has even noticed the state Billy’s in. He’s moving away, picking up his shirt and hauling it over his head without finesse, and he’s not looking at Billy at all.

Billy goes over to the sink, running the hot water to get rid of the mess on his face. By the time he’s done, Harrington is gone.

*

Steve’s an asshole. He _knows_ he’s an asshole, but does it matter? Does it count, when it’s Billy fucking Hargrove? He shouldn’t have done it, shouldn’t have let him suck his cock, shouldn’t have given into the desperation that was coursing hot through his blood. He’s never wanted anyone like that before, definitely not a guy, never even thought about it—

Jesus. It’s _all_ he can think about now.

Billy hadn’t really known what he was doing, that much was clear, but his tongue felt electric as it slid across Steve’s cock. Steve hadn’t been able to look at him properly, terrified that if he did Billy would _see_ , see how much Steve wanted it, wanted _him_. 

Right at the end, he’d looked. And God, Billy, there on his knees with Steve’s come on his face…

It was too much. Way too much.

He wants to do it again. 

He can’t do it again. Not with Billy. He _hates_ Billy. That, at least, hasn’t changed; he wondered if it would, but it hasn’t. When he thinks of Billy, he thinks about the fight, about Billy’s fist smashing into his face, about the bruises he had to explain away to his parents, about the kids and their small scared faces. Billy’s a fucking dickhead, and the fact that they did… whatever it is that they did, doesn’t change that.

It doesn’t even feel like it was Billy who sucked his cock. It was someone else, someone with Billy’s face, maybe, but nothing to do with who Billy _is_.

He wants to do it again.

He avoids Billy at school all the next week, and the one after that, and by that time he realises Billy’s avoiding him right back. It’s a relief, not having to think about Billy, just being able to focus on school, and yet…

And yet, he wants to do it again.

Then it’s Thanksgiving, and he sits through a painfully awkward dinner with his parents on the actual day and then goes to the Byers’ place the day after for a kind of Upside Down reunion meal. It’s weird, and Steve feels like the only person there who doesn’t have a real connection with anyone - not since he and Nancy broke up - but it’s also nice.

He sits next to Dustin at dinner, and they talk about stuff that doesn’t matter, and he tries not to look at Nancy and Dustin tries not to look at Maxine. Steve tries not to look at Maxine as well, mostly because he really doesn’t want to think about her older brother. Mrs Byers has made a pretty awesome meal out of all her Thanksgiving leftovers, and Will is there, looking pale but alive, and Steve finds to his surprise that he’s actually having a good time.

“Hey,” Nancy says, just before he leaves. She’s touching his arm, and Steve has to stop himself flinching away. “Are we… okay?”

He looks into her face, and his chest aches. “Yeah,” he says. He swallows. “I mean, yeah, we will be.”

She smiles, but there’s something sad in her eyes, and Steve has to run to get away from it.

Monday at school, Billy shoves past him to get to his locker, just like he normally would, and whatever grace period Steve thought he was in is over. It’s back to business as usual, where Billy and Tommy H and all those other sycophants band together and try to make Steve care about the fact that he’s not one of them anymore.

“Plant your feet, Harrington,” Billy whispers in his ear, while they’re standing in line for warm-ups in gym class. “You don’t want to end up on your knees.”

Steve’s face flushes a hot scarlet, and he turns to spit: “It wasn’t _me_ who—”

Billy grins at him, wicked curving smile far too triumphant, and Steve subsides, unsettled and angry. He can’t quite believe Billy’s even bringing it up. But then, Billy doesn’t have limits, does he? Billy is six foot of pure uncontained impulse. He says what he likes. He _does_ what he likes, whether that’s punching Steve or kissing him. 

It’s like Billy thinks he has something over Steve, and that’s ridiculous, isn’t it? Steve was the one in control, Steve was the one pushing Billy onto his knees. Does Billy think he’s afraid? After everything that’s happened, can Billy really be so fucking _arrogant_ as to think Steve is scared of him?

By the time gym period ends, he’s practically vibrating out of his skin with rage.

“Hey, Harrington—” Billy starts, once Steve is out of the showers.

“Save it,” he cuts in. They’re not alone this time, but there are only a few of the other guys left in the locker room, and Tommy H isn’t one of them. Nobody’s listening. He says, roughly: “You want to say something to me, you can say it after school.”

Billy comes a step closer, that smug asshole grin on his face. “After school?”

“You know where I live,” Steve says, and walks out.

He doesn’t wait for Billy after school. Either he’ll come round or he won’t. Steve’s parents are out of town again, and Steve sits in the kitchen shaking out of his skin and pretending to concentrate on an English assignment for an hour until the doorbell rings.

Billy’s changed, out of his school clothes and into an open-necked blue shirt and his leather jacket. He looks dangerous and sexy, and Steve feels simultaneously turned-on and irritated. When Steve opens the door, Billy flashes him that smile again, insincere and arrogant.

“Harrington,” he drawls.

“Come in,” Steve says curtly, and Billy laughs, and obeys.

He looks around the front hall, eyebrows raised. “Nice digs,” he says.

“Shut up,” Steve says.

“Hey, I’m just saying—”

“I said, shut up,” Steve repeats tightly. “If you came here to talk, you can fuck off.”

There’s a silence. Billy is frowning like he’s actually thinking about it, like maybe he will just take off, like he’s not desperate and _wanting_ the way Steve is, and Steve feels shitty and miserable and kind of wishes Billy _would_ leave after all.

Finally, Billy says: “I didn’t come here to talk.”

The relief is pathetically instantaneous. “Good,” Steve says, and turns to walk to the lounge. He can’t take Billy to his bedroom, can’t face even a second longer of this torturous waiting; thank God, Billy follows him without comment.

Once they’re actually in the lounge, Steve stops. His heart is thudding in his chest. Billy initiated this last time, and it was all so hot and fast that he didn’t have to think about it. This is harder. Billy is here, in his home, and although he definitely knows where he _wants_ it to go, he’s less sure about how to get there. He’s not even particularly hard, too dampened by the awkwardness and uncertainty.

He thinks about Billy, whispering in his ear in class. He’d made out like Steve was afraid, like Billy was better somehow because he’d sucked Steve’s cock and Steve hadn’t returned the favour, and Steve… Steve isn’t going to let that stand. He can feel his teeth grinding at the thought of it.

“Take your clothes off,” he says, surprising even himself with how harsh his voice sounds.

Billy hasn’t said a word the whole time Steve has been thinking. There’s a beat, and Steve knows he’s deciding whether or not to obey. Then, slowly, he peels off his jacket, eyes on Steve’s face.

Steve swallows as Billy unbuttons his shirt, his throat suddenly dry. There’s something incredibly intense about having Billy strip for him, especially with the way Billy is watching him; it’s… erotic. Like it’s something Billy is giving him. Or… no, not quite that, more like something Steve is _taking_ from Billy, and Billy is letting him.

Billy’s chest, tanned and muscular, is exposed, bit by bit, and then the shirt is off, fluttering to the ground. Steve inhales sharply at the sight, the broad planes of Billy’s body, and he has to resist the urge to move towards him, to touch, to run his hands across Billy’s chest, to dig his fingers into Billy’s hips. He wants to kiss Billy’s throat, wants to thread his fingers into Billy’s hair, but he doesn’t move. He just watches.

Billy kicks his shoes off, unbuckling his belt and unbuttoning his black jeans. Steve hasn’t actually _seen_ Billy’s cock, not really, and it just seems… wrong. He realises in a heady rush that he’s hard, that just watching Billy take his shirt off has made him _hard_ , and he takes a step forward without meaning to.

Billy strips his pants off, rolling them down his legs and peeling off his socks as well. When he straightens up, he’s standing in just his boxers.

And then he hesitates.

Steve sees it. For all his cocky posturing, for all the intensity in his gaze and the confidence in his body, when it comes to exposing himself that final time, Billy hesitates.

It shouldn’t make Steve feel satisfied. But it does. This whole time he’s felt on the back foot, but it’s not just him. Billy doesn’t know what he’s doing either.

“Take them off,” he instructs, voice hard.

Billy lifts his chin. His hands are trembling, just a little.

He takes off his boxers. Steve can’t take his eyes away, can barely even allow himself to blink, watching intently as Billy bares himself completely. He’s hard, although maybe not totally there yet, and he’s…

God. He’s something Steve can’t describe. He _can’t_ say that Billy Hargrove is hot, can’t admit that _he’s_ hot for Billy Hargrove, because that’s wrong, it’s so wrong, and yet just looking at him standing there feels like another planet from anything Steve’s ever experienced before. Billy’s body is lean and strong, and he’s naked and there’s something beautiful about that, which is just about the gayest thought Steve’s ever had, so he shakes it hastily out of his head.

Billy says, with just the faintest hint of uncertainty in his voice: “Are you… are you going to—”

“No,” Steve says, and then they just stand there for another few moments. He knows Billy is uncomfortable, but the good thing about Billy Hargrove is that he’s so much of an _asshole_ that it doesn’t matter what you do to him.

At last, Steve moves towards Billy, letting his eyes rove over Billy’s body. He wants to do what Billy did last time, wants to show that he’s not afraid - but he doesn’t want to go down to his knees. It feels like giving something up. So instead he puts his hands on Billy’s shoulders, exerts pressure until Billy gets the message and slowly, slowly, sinks down.

He reaches for the waistband of Steve’s pants when he’s on his knees, but Steve steps back. That’s not what he wants. So Billy sits back on his heels and just looks up at him, waiting, and Steve is feeling hot and pressured, because now he has to decide, doesn’t he? He knows what he _doesn’t_ want to do, but he doesn’t want to be responsible for what happens next either. He just wants it to happen, the way it did last time, the way it was easy and one thing just slipped into another, but now it feels awkward and like someone has to decide what happens next, and that’s him. It can’t be Billy. He can’t let Billy choose.

Billy has one eyebrow raised, a tiny smirk on his face, like he knows what Steve is struggling with, and Steve grits his teeth, and comes to the floor as well.

“Lie down,” he says.

Billy obviously hadn’t expected him to say that. His eyes widen, and he opens his mouth to say something, but Steve just isn’t interested. He pushes at Billy’s broad shoulders, palms tingling at the touch of skin on skin, and as Billy moves backward Steve comes forward, so that it ends with Billy lying on his back on the floor and Steve hovering over him.

His knees are either side of Billy’s hips, and although he’s holding himself up so that their chests aren’t touching, he can _feel_ Billy’s cock brushing his groin through his pants. He has to stifle a groan.

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” Billy says, sounding strained. 

Steve had actually been thinking the same thing, but hearing Billy say it raises his hackles. “Tough shit,” he says.

Billy shuts his mouth with an audible clack.

It’s easier to know what to do, now. Steve slides his body further down, moving so that his face moves past Billy’s chest to his hips. He pauses, and then presses his mouth to the tender skin at the top of Billy’s pelvis, just beside his hip bone. Billy gasps loudly.

“You like that?” Steve asks, and does it again before Billy can answer. Billy groans again, writhing underneath Steve’s touch.

“Y-Yes,” Billy says, voice strangled. “God, Steve—”

There’s something about hearing Billy saying his name like that that makes all the blood rush to Steve’s cock. He kisses Billy’s abdomen again, right above his cock, and this time he sucks on the pale skin until Billy is bucking his hips and making tiny mewling sounds under his breath. He gets it, now. There’s a power in reducing Billy to this, to this quivering needy _mess_ , and he gets why Billy was so smug about it before.

He drags his lips up the length of Billy’s cock, and then stops, hovering millimetres away from the hot taut skin. “What do you want?” he hisses. “Tell me what you want.”

“Steve,” Billy pants, still moving, trying to push himself up so his cock touches Steve’s mouth. Steve holds back, waits for an answer. “ _Steve_.”

“Tell me,” he insists.

Billy’s eyes are closed. “ _Please_ ,” he grits out. “Touch me.”

The tortured expression on his face makes it clear how hard it was to ask, and Steve takes pity on him. He bends his head, lets his tongue slide out, and sucks Billy into his mouth.

Billy feels _good_ in his mouth. He sets a hard, punishing rhythm, sloppy and rough, and with every movement Billy groans and bangs his palms on the ground and rolls his hips. Steve holds Billy’s thighs, feels the muscles twitching under his touch, scrapes his fingernails down them, and enjoys the sounds Billy makes in response.

Billy tips his head back and moans Steve’s name, and it makes Steve desperate.

“Steve,” he says. “Steve, _Steve_ , I’m gonna—”

Steve isn’t sure whether he wants Billy’s come in his mouth, but Billy did it, so he’s not stopping. He can feel the tension building in Billy’s whole body, feel him clenching and tight, so he knows exactly when the release comes. He keep sucking, and feels Billy coming on his tongue, hot and thick and tasting kind of funny.

Billy’s soft in his mouth now, and it feels weird. Slowly, Steve backs away, wiping Billy’s spunk from his chin. It’s pretty contained, which he has to admit he’s relieved about; he’s not even sure he likes tasting Billy’s come at all, and the thought of having it all over him, the way it was all over Billy, doesn’t feel great. 

It makes no sense, because the reminder of how _Billy_ looked, with Steve’s spunk all over his face, is enough to make his cock harden even more than it already is.

Billy is shuddering on the floor, and Steve pulls back onto his knees, looking down at him. His hair is a tangled mess around his face, and his eyes are closed.

Steve did that. Steve _wrecked_ him. It feels good.

At last, his eyes flutter open. He says, a little hoarsely: “That… that was…” and then stops, biting his lip. He looks at Steve, and says in a more normal voice: “Can I… Should I…?” with a meaningful glance towards Steve’s crotch.

“No,” Steve says. He’s not quite sure _why_ he doesn’t want Billy to touch him; maybe it’s because he’s stupidly disappointed that Billy didn’t finish his sentence, didn’t say exactly what _that was_. Maybe it’s because he wants this to be the memory. Whatever it is, even though he’s hard and horny, he doesn’t want Billy to get him off.

Billy pushes himself up onto his elbows, one eyebrow raised. “You sure, Harrington?”

Steve flinches. He _hates_ when Billy calls him that. There’s no real reason why, except maybe now he knows what it sounds like when Billy calls him by his first name. “Yeah,” he says. He stands up, backs away until the couch hits his legs and he’s forced to sit down on it. 

Billy watches him go. There’s something oddly vulnerable in his eyes.

“Do you… want your clothes?” Steve asks lamely.

“Nah, you’re good.” Suddenly Billy is all business, snapping up to his feet. He flashes Steve a grin. “I can dress myself.”

Which he does, incredibly fast. And then, with one last triumphant look at Steve, he leaves.

Steve lets his head drop onto the couch, feeling like shit, and with absolutely no idea why.

*

Billy tries to act normal with Harrington at school after that.

He has no idea if they’re going to mess around again. He doesn’t like the way Harrington had looked at him, the fact that Harrington wouldn’t take his clothes off and wouldn’t let Billy touch him. It feels like he thinks Billy isn’t any good, like Billy didn’t give him what he wanted, and that feels pretty fucking shitty.

So he’s just his usual aggressive self, pushing Harrington around and mocking him with Tommy H, and Harrington does his usual thing of totally ignoring him, and the whole time Billy’s body is thrumming with need. It’s weird, because Harrington had practically ordered him around, and mostly Billy had only done as he’d said to prove he wasn’t afraid, but also… also, it felt good. It felt really fucking good.

As November fades into December, he starts to wonder if that was it. He blew Harrington, Harrington returned the favour, and now maybe Harrington is done, because every time Billy so much as comes _near_ him he practically falls over himself trying to get away. After a while it’s not even fun anymore.

He goes to a party at Carol’s house, and fucks some girl there. She’s pretty and wears cherry-flavoured lipgloss, and Billy can’t look her in the eye the whole time he’s doing her. She wraps her arms around his neck and makes all the right noises, and Billy finishes limply and feels sick.

“So, like… do you wanna get together again sometime?” she asks him afterwards, propping herself up on one elbow and giving him a playful smile.

Billy shuts his eyes. “Trust me, sweetheart, I’m not a boyfriend kind of guy,” he says.

She laughs, like he said something _funny_. “You don’t have to be,” she says easily. He feels her hand, small, with long sharp nails, touching his chest. “I just mean like this. You know, if you want.”

“Nah,” he says. He sits up, patting her shoulder awkwardly. “One stop shop, baby.”

She looks kind of offended, but Billy doesn’t give a shit.

Of course, because he fucked her, he’s late home, and his dad hauls him up against the wall hard enough to raise a lump on the back of his head. His hands dig into Billy’s arms, and Billy knows there are going to be bruises there the next day. His dad’s face is inches away from his own, and spittle lands on his cheek when his dad yells at him.

He endures it, and goes to bed.

The next morning, Neil says casually at breakfast: “You’ll take your sister to her dance next week.”

Billy glances at Max, resolutely eating her cereal and not looking up. “Dance?”

“The Snow Ball,” Susan clarifies, as if that’s supposed to mean something to him.

“ _You’re_ going to a school dance?” he says to Max, because honestly that’s the only surprising part about the demand.

She looks up, fixing him with a glare that shouldn’t make him quail and yet, horrifically, _does_. “Yes,” she says, voice challenging him to comment.

“Okay,” he says, and that’s the end of the conversation.

So he takes Max to the dance. She dresses up as much as she _ever_ dresses up, which is… not a lot, honestly, but she let Susan do her hair and she’s oddly nervous in the car, eyes skittering around when they get to the school.

“Have fun,” Billy says to her. He’s actually not being sarcastic, but he doesn’t exactly blame her for assuming. She just glares at him, and slams the door on her way out.

Billy just sits in the car for a few minutes, and tries to work out why he gives a shit.

That, of course, is when he sees Harrington.

He’s sat in his own car, talking to a younger kid with curly hair - Billy is pretty sure he recognises him from that night at the Byers’ - and he’s actually _smiling_. 

Billy’s not sure he’s ever actually seen Harrington smile before, never seen an expression other than contempt on his face. It’s nice.

He watches as Harrington adjusts the inside mirror, and the kid touches his hair. Whatever they’re talking about, it seems like Harrington is pretty earnest about it; he’s making hand gestures, and there’s a serious expression on his face. Then he claps hands with the kid, and the kid gets out of the car. He’s wearing sneakers and a suit, and Billy shakes his head silently at the combination.

For a moment, Harrington seems to just be watching him head inside the school; there’s an odd look on his face, but Billy can’t make it out properly at this distance. Then he turns—

And meets Billy’s eyes.

His eyes narrow, like he’s mad at Billy for being there - and he probably is, because when it comes to Billy, Harrington is _always_ mad. For a few seconds, they just _look_ at each other, and it’s heated and intense and Billy is hard right there in his car outside the fucking middle school.

Then Harrington rips his gaze away, slams a hand on his steering wheel, and drives away.

It takes Billy about eight seconds to start up the engine and follow him.

Harrington doesn’t go far. He slides his car across two spaces outside the high school next door, away from the noise and fuss of the dance, and Billy pulls the Camaro in a few feet away. He waits, heart beating.

After a moment, the door to Harrington’s car opens, and Harrington himself gets out.

Billy watches him. Steve’s eyes are dark.

He stands for a moment, idling, as if he’s waiting for an invitation. Then, apparently making his mind up, he strides over with purpose, opening the passenger door to the Camaro and getting into the car.

“Harrington,” Billy says, because he’s an asshole.

Steve’s eyes close, very briefly. “Don’t call me that.”

Billy just laughs.

The air inside the car feels tight, thick with tension, and Billy doesn’t know what to do with it. He’s half-hard, just from the way Steve is glaring at him and the way the muscles in his arms tighten when he’s mad with Billy, and he’s also smug as fuck because Steve _got into his fucking car_ \- but he doesn’t know what to do next.

He wants to hear Steve _telling_ him, the way he did at his house the last time, as weird and unlike himself as that is, but it’s not as simple here in the confines of the Camaro, and he also seriously doesn’t want that unpleasant unbalanced feeling he was left with last time when he was naked and Steve wouldn’t let him take off any of his clothes.

He knows Steve thinks he’s too good for Billy. He doesn’t need it shoved in his fucking face.

Fuck it. He leans forward, feeling the seat belt cutting into the side of his neck, and presses his lips against Steve’s.

Steve isn’t expecting it. Billy can tell by the way he stiffens under the kiss. But why the fuck else did he drive out here, get into Billy’s car? Billy curls his hand around the back of Steve’s neck, bringing them closer together. There’s something about sitting here that makes it difficult to build up to the intensity they’ve had before. There’s not enough room for Billy to attack Steve, to lose himself in the desperation of the moment, and so the kiss is slower, softer.

It feels nice. Billy’s chest thumps.

He can feel Steve’s fingers in his hair, and it makes every nerve ending in his body tingle. With his free hand, he clicks his seat belt undone, twisting so he can press tighter into Steve. Steve is making tiny soft sounds into Billy’s mouth, and it’s _killing_ him.

God, it’s so fucking _banal_ , making out in Billy’s car like they’re a couple of baby teenagers who only just discovered necking. But it’s also _nice_ , because Billy has never had this, never got to _be_ a baby teenager with someone he actually likes, because the people Billy likes all have dicks and he’s never had the chance before.

It doesn’t feel like the way he’s been with Steve before. It feels soft, and Billy doesn’t want it to stop.

Maybe Steve’s realising it too, because suddenly he’s pulling back, his expression vaguely uncomfortable. Billy wants to push, wants to keep kissing him, to _force_ Steve not to stop, but he doesn’t. It’s his car, and he wants it, he _wants_ it, but he doesn’t push.

“Touch me,” Steve says, and he tilts his hips forward, so there can be no ambiguity about what he means.

The angle is awkward, and Billy kind of wants to press in for another kiss, but he obeys immediately. Steve kicks his seat back as Billy scrambles to unzip his jeans, reaching into Steve’s pants to find him hard and sweaty.

Steve groans as Billy starts to slide his hand along the length of his cock, the sound ragged, raw, like it’s been dragged out of him. Impulsively Billy leans forward, pressing a hard kiss to Steve’s collarbone, and Steve rewards him with another deep moan. Billy pumps his hand faster, feeling the way Steve bucks under his touch. His own cock is starting to ache.

Fortunately, it seems like Steve has figured it out, because his fingers are fumbling with Billy’s belt buckle, and a minute later he has Billy’s dick in his hand. There’s not enough room, and their arms keep bumping uncomfortably against each other, but Steve touching him is pretty much the most incredible thing Billy’s ever felt. He ruts into Steve’s fist, gasping breathlessly.

“Steve,” he pants, because he shouldn’t be close to coming, not just from this, not like some horny inexperienced eighth grader ready to blow at the first touch to his cock, but he is, he _is_. “ _Steve_.”

Steve moans, right in Billy’s ear. “Do it,” he gasps. “Come, _fuck_ , Billy, just do it, just come already—”

It’s mindless, and Billy needs it, he’s fucking desperate, and he can feel it building in his groin, feels his thighs knotting and his breath coming in short laboured pants. His hand tightens around Steve’s cock, and it’s ridiculous, it’s immature, it’s fucking _incredible_ , and he’s spilling in his pants like some goddamn kid.

Steve groans, and follows suit.

“Jesus,” Billy huffs, and he leans back against the headrest.

Steve turns to look at him. He’s breathing heavily, the collar of his shirt open where Billy was kissing his neck, and he looks lazy and satisfied. He’s actually fucking smiling. That’s a first, at least where Billy’s concerned. He says, languorously: “Yeah.”

Billy laughs. “You’re a mess, Harrington.”

It’s almost comical, how quickly Steve’s face closes off. It’s like he suddenly becomes aware of where he is, who he’s with, the way his jeans are a mess of his own come, the way that Billy’s hand is still resting vaguely in his crotch area. He stiffens, and not in a good way.

Billy rolls his eyes. “Jesus, Steve, take that stick out your ass,” he says. His voice sounds weird, constricted. “Can we just have the afterglow for a fucking minute?”

Steve doesn’t say anything, and after a second Billy digs a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket, flicks on his lighter. He cranks down the window, blowing smoke into the chilly December night, and feels the nicotine start to calm him down. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Steve mopping himself up with the edge of his boxers, trying to make himself presentable. He smirks as he looks out of the window.

He’s tapped half a cigarette’s worth of ash out of the window when Steve finally breaks. He says, irritably: “Can I bum one?”

Billy turns to him, and he knows his smile is a little smug. He gets out another cigarette, hands it to Steve without comment, and makes Steve bend forward to light up from Billy’s own half-done smoke. He _knows_ he’s pissing Steve off, and it makes it better, makes it worth it. Steve _hates_ him, makes it so fucking clear that he hates him, thinks Billy is the scum of the earth - but Billy can still get to him. Can still get under his skin, make Steve restless and desperate, make Steve want him.

Once his cigarette is lit, Steve gets out of the car, closing the door and leaning back against it. Billy can see his ass through the window, tight and kind of hot in his dark jeans. He grins, takes another deep drag of his own smoke, and gets out of the Camaro as well, buckling his belt as he goes.

“Jesus Christ, you don’t have to follow me everywhere I go,” Steve says, without turning around. 

Billy walks around the front of the car. “Aw, but then you’d miss me, princess.”

Steve gives him a sideways glance. “What is it with you and my freaking name?” he grumbles. Billy laughs. “Seriously, do you not know what it is?”

“I know your name,” Billy says. He leans against the car, right up next to Steve, their legs touching. “ _Steve_ ,” he whispers, right in Steve’s ear. Steve shivers, his entire body rippling, and Billy chuckles. 

Steve shrugs away irritably. “Stop it,” he says.

“Stop turning you on, princess?” Billy asks. He tips his head back, taking a draw on the cigarette. “Don’t know if I can.”

“You’re such an ass,” Steve says, but there’s something… light, in his voice, like he’s more amused than pissy, and Billy smiles to himself as he flicks his cigarette butt away.

They stand peaceably for a few minutes, Steve smoking and Billy just leaning against his car and enjoying the satisfied feeling of good sex. Is it sex, when it was really just a fumble in his front seat? He has no fucking idea, but it felt good, and it feels good to stand here next to Steve and not feel the weight of his hatred.

“Steve,” he says.

Steve turns to him. There’s a moment, something in his eyes, and they’re standing really close together. “Yeah?” he says.

Billy bites his lip. He’s not certain what he wants to say - and then before he can figure it out, there’s the slide of tires and a flash of headlights, and another car pulls into the parking lot.

Steve steps away from Billy so quickly that Billy is left reeling.

Billy pulls out his packet of cigarettes again, watching as whoever is driving the car switches the engine off. He doesn’t normally smoke this much, saves it for his more stressed out moments, but he figures this maybe applies. Who the fuck is at the high school on a random December night like this? It takes him a couple of tries to light the cigarette, and his fingers are trembling by the time he manages it.

When the new car’s headlights go off, he can see that it’s _Jonathan Byers_ , of all fucking people, sat behind the wheel. He glances up, gives Steve a grin, and gets out of the car.

“Hey, Steve,” he says. He doesn’t even look at Billy. 

He’s soft-spoken, but Billy can’t forget that it’s his house they were in, when he beat the crap out of Harrington. They’ve never exchanged so much as a word at school.

Still, that’s not going to make Billy back down. “Well, well, Byers,” he says. 

Byers turns and meets his eye. And _fuck_ , Billy feels the smile wipe off his face, because Byers looks soft but his expression is anything but. He’s looking at Billy like he’s not afraid of him, like there’s no challenge Billy can make that Byers won’t meet head on. Belatedly, Billy remembers Tommy H telling him that Byers had kicked Harrington’s ass long before Billy arrived in town.

“Billy,” Byers says, in his quiet, even voice. He looks at Harrington again. “You brought Dustin?”

Harrington moves a little, out of the shadows and into the light of the single illuminating streetlamp. “Yeah,” he says. “You’re here with Will?”

“I’m taking pictures,” Byers says. He gives a short, soft laugh. “I’m on break.”

“Right,” Harrington says. He swallows, looks away, and Billy remembers, not for the first time, that Byers stole his girl. 

He says, without thinking: “You want a smoke?”

Byers looks surprised. “Sure,” he says.

Billy holds out the packet, his own cigarette held between his lips as Byers moves forward to take one. And yeah, maybe it’s not like Billy to be friendly, but there’s nothing he likes more than being un-fucking-predictable.

“You have a light?” Byers asks. 

Billy glances at Harrington. He _does_ have a light, of course he does, but when Harrington had asked in the car he’d made him light up off his own smoke. He could do it again now, could lean forward, encourage Byers to bend towards him, encourage that tight intimate moment just to piss Harrington off.

That’s what Harrington expects him to do. He can feel it.

So instead he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his lighter, handing it to Byers like it’s nothing.

He pretends not to feel Harrington’s eyes following him as he does.

*

Steve hates the cold. January is worse than any of the other winter months, because Thanksgiving and Christmas and New Year’s Eve are done, and it’s just cold and frost on the ground with nothing to lead up to except fucking Valentine’s Day.

Last year, he’d taken Nancy out to some fancyass restaurant and given her flowers. It’s only January, but it’s not like there’s anyone he’s going to be sending a Valentine this year.

He hasn’t seen Billy since the Snow Ball. At least, he’s seen him around school, but Billy has stopped tormenting him, following him around, whispering taunts in his ear, and Tommy H and the rest of his sycophantic crowd have followed suit, for the most part. Steve can’t say he _misses_ the everyday reminders of the position he used to hold, but it’s weird. It’s weird not having Billy in his face every day, as much as it made him grit his teeth.

He feels weird about _not_ seeing Billy, but he felt weird about seeing him the night of the dance as well. It wasn’t like the other times they’ve hooked up; it felt… easy. Maybe even fun. 

Fun with Billy Hargrove? Steve’s obviously losing the plot.

He doesn’t like how it made him feel. He doesn’t like that Billy made him laugh, that when he was kissing Billy it felt as warm and as nice as it had once felt kissing Nancy, that when Billy murmured his name his spent cock had made a tired effort because hearing his name on Billy’s lips just about kills him.

Billy Hargrove is a _guy_. He’s a guy, and he’s just about as far away from Nancy Wheeler as it’s possible to be. It’s okay, just about, for him to suck Steve’s dick while Steve is hating him, but smiling with him? Laughing, smoking, doing the kind of easy dating shit he did with Nancy? 

He can’t do that. Not with Billy Hargrove.

Still, it feels like something’s _missing_ , now that Billy’s not seeking him out at school. He wants to hook up again, wants to feel Billy’s mouth on his body again, but he doesn’t have the balls to make it happen and Billy hasn’t given him an opening. 

Why the fuck hasn’t Billy given him an opening? Maybe it’s because of the way Jonathan showed up at the high school parking lot, maybe the whole thing weirded him out. Jonathan had just acted normal, chatted casually about school, about the kids, the dance - and Billy had seemed fine, but it was weird, wasn’t it? None of them are friends. Steve, the guy who stole his girlfriend, and the guy who beat him up.

Well, both of them have beaten him up. He doesn’t really like what that says about him.

So the weeks pass, and Steve is getting more and more frustrated, and sometimes in gym class he tries to shove past Billy, tries to get him to start up the same shit on the basketball court as he usually would, but Billy doesn’t rise to it. He just plays the game, aggressive as usual, and then hits the showers without a backward glance at Steve.

It’s almost February by the time he breaks. He can’t stand it, not for another second, watching Billy around school and getting _no fucking attention_ back, and so he corners Dustin and finds out what day Max is going to Lucas’s place after school.

“Thursday, I think,” Dustin says. They’re at the diner by the arcade, and Dustin is sucking obnoxiously at a milkshake. “Why?”

“I need to talk to Billy about something,” Steve says vaguely. His heart is thumping. 

Dustin practically spits out his milkshake. “What? _Why_? Billy’s dangerous, Steve, he’s an asshole!”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I know, genius,” he says. He thinks fast. “It’s for a school project.”

“So why does it matter if Max is there or not?” Dustin asks, wiping his face with a napkin.

“Because we need to actually work on the project,” Steve says. “Billy doesn’t give a shit, but I need to pass the class.” He can feel himself getting pissed, like it’s a real project that Billy doesn’t care about. Like it’s about anything other than Steve’s goddamn blue balls. 

Dustin considers this. “Okay,” he says at last. “I’ll get my mom to pick me up Thursday, then.”

Steve had forgotten he’s meant to be getting Dustin after RV club. He feels bad, because he’s lying out of his ass, and Dustin is just about his favourite person these days - sad, pathetic, yes, but still true - and he doesn’t like the idea of letting him down for a lie. But it’s not that big of a thing for Dustin to rearrange, and Jesus Christ, Steve _needs_ the release.

So on Thursday Steve hurries out of his history class ahead of everyone else at the end of the day, heading straight out to the parking lot with his book bag while his classmates go to their lockers. Billy’s Camaro is parked right outside the doors, because Billy has enough clout at school that people leave his space for him, and Steve slings his bag over his shoulder and leans against the bonnet.

He’s hoping Billy won’t be with Tommy H. But even if he is, Steve is somewhat beyond caring; he doesn’t know _why_ he needs this so much, but he does, and it’s not like Tommy is going to jump straight to the two of them fucking as an explanation.

Luckily, however, Billy is alone when he strides out of the school doors in the flood of students heading home. Steve’s attention zeroes in on him almost the second he comes outside. He’s wearing a denim jacket with a fleece collar, and his hair is perfectly styled around his shoulders, and Steve… Steve _wants_ him.

Billy takes a few steps towards the car, and then he sees Steve, and he stops.

And slowly, a grin begins to curve across his face.

When he starts walking again, it’s not his normal walk. He’s… _strutting_ , making a fucking show of it, and Steve is simultaneously infuriated and turned on. 

“Harrington,” he says, when he gets within a couple of feet of the Camaro.

It makes Steve’s blood boil. He _hates_ when Billy calls him that. But for once, it doesn’t matter. 

“Billy,” he returns evenly.

Billy lifts an eyebrow. “Any reason you’re blocking me from my car?”

“Yep,” Steve says. And then he turns, and walks away. He doesn’t need to say anything else. He knows Billy has got the message, and it’s enough; either Billy will respond, and he’ll be getting laid tonight, or he won’t and Steve will have to find a way to move on. 

Move on. Christ. It’s not a break-up.

Steve gets in his car, and drives home. In his rearview mirror, he can see the Camaro right behind him.

It’s not like he really had any doubt that Billy would follow him. He doesn’t even know how he knew it, but he did, he knew that Billy wanted him, he knew Billy was waiting for him to make a move. It makes him feel kind of fucking stupid that he waited this long, to be honest. But also… if Billy was going to fold this easily, why has he been ignoring Steve at school, why did he step back just so Steve would step forward?

He feels like maybe, if he thinks about it too much, he might be able to figure out the answers to his questions. So all the way home, he deliberately doesn’t think about it. 

After he pulls into the drive outside his empty house, Steve just sits in the car for a moment or two. He’s feeling shaky, almost like he doesn’t want to do this - but _fuck_ , the idea of _not_ doing it is so much worse. He needs to do this. He just can’t let Billy see what a mess he is. So he takes a minute to compose himself, and then he opens the car door like there’s nothing wrong at all.

Billy is waiting, leaning against his own car, a lazy smile on his face.

Steve ignores him, heading to the front door to let them in. He kicks off his shoes in the hall, drops his book bag unceremoniously by the wall, and starts walking upstairs without checking to see if Billy is following.

Of course Billy is following.

Steve hears him close the front door with a gentle click, hears the clatter of Billy’s boots as he takes them off, and there’s a part of him that’s surprised that Billy is being respectful enough to take his shoes off - he didn’t last time, but then, Steve didn’t tell him to, and this time he’s seen Steve do it first.

Does that mean something? Steve shakes the thought out of his head.

When they reach Steve’s room, Billy looks around, his glittering eyes taking in the patterned wallpaper, the rumpled unmade bed, the weird lamps that Steve’s mom brought home from Italy. Steve closes his bedroom door, waiting for the pronouncement. Something sarcastic, no doubt, to remind him that Billy is looking down on him.

It doesn’t come. Instead, Billy says quietly: “What do you want me to do, Steve?”

Steve can feel his heart hammering in his chest. He doesn’t want Billy to be so amenable, so gentle - he wants something to rail against, an excuse to let out the boiling rage swirling around inside him. He’s not even sure why he’s so fucking angry, so full of… full of _something_ , something hot and fierce and wild, but he is, it’s there, and while Billy is being so soft Steve can’t let it out.

He says, through gritted teeth: “I want to fuck you.”

Billy’s eyes widen, and Steve experiences a moment of bitter victory at having surprised him. He says, and there’s a note of hesitation in his voice: “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Steve says.

Billy tilts his head to one side, apparently considering this. “You done it before?” he asks at last.

Steve takes a step forward. “What does that matter?” he says aggressively.

“It matters if you do it wrong,” Billy says drily, one eyebrow raised. He laughs, just a little, at Steve’s fierce glare. “You have stuff?”

Now Steve just feels stupid. “Stuff?” he repeats roughly. Angrily. He doesn’t like feeling stupid in front of Billy.

“Lube, condoms?” Billy says, like it should be obvious. And in retrospect, it probably should have been, but Steve _hasn’t_ done this before, for all his bluster, and it was a hell of a lot easier with Nancy. It was… it was the way things are _meant_ to be, with Nancy.

It was a guy and a girl, for one thing. That’s what they teach you in health class. This… this is something else, something wrong, but Steve can’t make himself stop.

So he says, cheeks flaming: “Yeah, I have it.”

Billy is watching him, eyes slightly narrowed, and as much as Steve wants this, _needs_ this, if Billy laughs at him he’ll throw him out, he’ll—

“Steve,” Billy says. “I haven’t done it before either.”

It’s such a raw admission that Steve feels the anger just drain out of him. He stands there, mouth slightly open, because Billy just - he just made himself _vulnerable_. He told Steve something that should be a secret, something that makes him look like something other than the front he presents to the world. That’s not a thing they do with each other.

He wants to say that he doesn’t know what to do, but he can’t make the words come out. Instead he says: “Do you… want to?”

Billy takes one soft step forward. “Yeah,” he says.

“Okay,” Steve says, mind racing. “Okay, so… so take off your clothes, and tell me if…” He trails off. _If I’m terrible at it. If I do it wrong._

“Okay,” Billy says.

There’s a moment where they both just stand there. Then, almost in sync, they both start stripping down. Billy slides his jacket down his arms, pulls his top up over his head, and Steve is distracted from his own disrobement by the sight of Billy’s tanned chest, his muscular arms, the poised way he holds himself. He catches Steve looking and grins, but not in that nasty smug way Steve hates. More like… more like he _likes_ it. Likes knowing that Steve is looking at him.

“Right back at you, princess,” he tosses out, nodding towards Steve’s own bare chest.

Steve flushes, and looks away. But there’s a tiny part of him that likes the fact that Billy noticed.

He peels off his pants and socks, but he hesitates over his boxers. He remembers making Billy do this in his living room a couple of months ago; it’s scary enough when they’re _both_ undressing, so he doesn’t know how Billy was brave enough to do it on his own. 

He feels a tiny twinge of guilt at that. He hadn’t let Billy see him. He’d left it all to Billy to do.

Fuck it. It’s Billy Hargrove. What the fuck does it matter?

Still, it makes Steve want to be the one who’s brave this time, so he reaches down to take his boxers off. Billy is watching him almost greedily, and it gives Steve confidence. Slowly, he lets his underwear drop down his legs, stepping out of them and resisting the urge to cover himself. He’s hard, leaking a little onto his stomach, and Billy’s looking at his cock _avidly_ , like he can’t get enough of it.

“Like what you see, Hargrove?” Steve teases.

Billy’s eyes flick up to Steve’s face, and he starts moving forward. “Like you wouldn’t _believe_ , princess,” he whispers, and Steve’s stomach flips over.

“Take them off,” he commands, gesturing towards Billy’s boxers, and Billy obeys immediately.

Steve can’t help himself then. He surges forward, crashing into Billy like a satellite. Billy tastes like cigarettes and caffeine, his mouth hot and frantic against Steve’s. Steve can feel Billy’s hands sliding around his shoulders, every touch burning him, lighting his skin on fire, catching him up in a storm of heat and want and longing. He tilts his hips, pushing them insistently into Billy’s, groaning into Billy’s mouth as their cocks slide together.

“Steve,” Billy murmurs as Steve kisses down the side of his neck, teeth scraping on his shoulder. “Steve, Steve, _Steve_ —” His words choke, and Steve pulls Billy’s body tight against his own.

They crash back onto Steve’s bed. They’ve kissed before, plenty of times now, but there’s something completely different about kissing like this, when they’re both naked, feeling every inch of skin touching each other. There’s no room in Steve’s head for how much he hates Billy. All there’s room for is how much he _wants_ Billy, wants this, wants to keep running his hands across Billy’s chest, wants to kiss Billy’s face while their hips press together, wants to hold Billy down on his bed and hear Billy’s desperate moans.

He wants more, wants to _fuck_ Billy, fuck him right into the bed, but he doesn’t know how. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters anymore except getting what he wants. So he pulls back, takes a moment just to look at Billy, all red and flushed and hot and completely undone, undone by _Steve_ —

“I want to fuck you,” he says, and where did that come from? Steve’s never sounded so authoritative in his life, so sure of what he wants—

“Do it,” Billy gasps breathlessly. 

Steve fumbles in his bedside drawer for a condom and his tub of Vaseline. He can feel Billy’s eyes on him, watching him, but instead of making him uncertain it makes him feel powerful. He did that to Billy Hargrove, he broke Billy down, he turned the strong asshole from school into this gorgeous quivering wreck lying here desperate for Steve’s cock.

“You want me,” he pants, because he _can_.

Billy waits a beat before answering, as if to remind Steve that it’s a choice. He’s not being made to say it - he’s _choosing_ to.

“Yes,” he says quietly. “Yes.”

Hands trembling, Steve twists open the Vaseline jar and dips two fingers into it. He’s used it before, of course, gets it out whenever he’s feeling like a particularly indulgent solo session, but he’s never used it with someone else before. Not with Nancy. Everything with Nancy was _normal_ , the way sex is supposed to be.

This is something else.

Billy is still lying there in front of him, his legs parted so that Steve’s kneeling between them. Some of his hair has flopped into his eyes, and Steve feels an irrational urge to… to what, sweep it out again? It doesn’t make any sense. Billy isn’t Nancy.

He’s stalling. He knows he’s stalling. He has Vaseline on his fingers and he’s _supposed_ to be touching Billy with it, but he doesn’t know how to start. He doesn’t know how to start, and he can’t even ask, because Billy hasn’t done this before either, neither of them have a fucking clue what they’re doing, and Steve is shaking with how fucking scared he is but also how much he _wants_ this—

“Steve.” Billy’s voice is quiet, and uncharacteristically gentle.

Steve stares at him. “Yeah?”

For a moment, Billy just looks at him, and then he reaches up, his hand cupping the back of Steve’s head, and his lips are warm and soft on Steve’s.

Steve kisses him back, and it’s easy to lean forward, to deepen the kiss, to press down until Billy’s legs come up to wrap around his waist. He feels… too hot, but in a good way, like his whole world is shrinking until the only thing in it is Billy, and it means that none of the other crap floating round his head matters anymore.

When he pulls back, Billy’s cheeks are flushed, and Steve is sure his own are the same. 

Billy’s eyes flicker to Steve’s hand, still sticky with Vaseline. Slowly, he spreads his legs again.

It should be gross. That’s the main thing Steve is thinking, as he touches the soft skin underneath Billy’s balls, lets his fingertips drift lower. He should be totally grossed out right now. He’s touching Billy’s _ass_ , the place where… where… well, Steve isn’t going to finish that thought right now. It’s enough to know that it’s not a place anyone else is supposed to touch. 

But he’s touching it. And he’s not grossed out.

Billy is watching him. He’s so still it’s like he’s holding his breath. Steve strokes his finger lower, and then, with one hurried look at Billy - is he doing it _wrong_ , what is Billy thinking? - he slips it between Billy’s ass cheeks and _touches_ him.

Billy moans raggedly.

It’s fucking _hot_ , and Steve presses his finger a little more firmly against Billy’s… fuck, against Billy’s asshole, which is a weird fucking thing to think about doing, but he’s doing it, he’s doing it, and Billy draws his legs up and makes a low groaning sound under his breath.

“Is that—?” Steve says softly.

“Don’t stop.” Billy sounds absolutely wrecked. It sends heat pulsing to Steve’s cock, brings a smile involuntarily to his lips. He did that, he made Billy Hargrove sound like that, and it feels good.

Slowly, he pushes his finger _inside Billy_. It feels tight and very warm, and he has no idea what to do with it - is he supposed to move it around, or pull out and in again, the way he would with a girl? In the back of his head there’s a vague nervousness about what he’ll see if he takes his finger out again, but somehow that doesn’t feel very important right now. More important is the expression on Billy’s face, wide-eyed and tense but also fucking turned on. _So_ turned on.

He crooks his finger, and Billy spasms.

“Like that?” Steve asks. Billy nods tersely, and Steve does it again.

Billy cries out, and Steve’s stomach flips over. He wants more, he wants to force that sound out of Billy again and again, he wants to be buried deep inside him, skin against skin. Billy says, his voice cracking: “ _Steve_ —”

“I want you,” Steve says in a rush, and there’s something strong and heady pushing him forward. He flicks his finger again, feels Billy clench around him, and he grins at the sensation. “Shit, Billy, I want you, I want to fuck you—”

“Do it,” Billy moans, so Steve does.

He deliberately doesn’t look at his finger when he draws it out of Billy, focusing instead on the raw desperate sound Billy makes as he pulls out. His fingers are sticky and shaky, and it’s hard to get the condom wrapper off, but Steve manages it at last. Billy is trembling, his body dotted with goosebumps, but he doesn’t take his eyes off Steve as he’s putting the condom on, slathering more Vaseline onto his hands and his cock. He’s so hard that it’s painful.

It’s nothing like having sex with a girl. For one thing, it’s almost fucking impossible to line himself up properly to fuck Billy; Billy pulls his knees right up to his chest, but then Steve can’t get any purchase on the mattress, and the hole seems so _small_ , there’s no way Steve can fit in there. They fumble around, moving and twisting to make it work, and it should be a major turn-off but somehow it’s kind of… fun.

Fun. Steve’s too far gone right now, but dimly in the back of his mind he knows he’ll be horrified by that later.

At last, they’ve slithered their way into a position that seems to work. They’re right at the edge of the bed, Steve’s feet touching the floor, and Billy has his knees up again. He’s smiling, a huge fucking grin that makes his whole face kind of… light up, and it makes Steve want to smile right back.

“You ready?” he asks Billy.

“Fuck yeah,” Billy says, all amusement. “Come on, princess - ah, _fuck_!”

For of course, Steve has pushed the tip of his cock into Billy’s ass. The only surefire way to shut him up.

Billy is so _tight_. He feels like a vice around Steve’s cock, and Jesus, it feels amazing. Steve wants to keep pushing inside, but there’s a somewhat anguished look on Billy’s face, so he forces himself to slow down.

Billy will tell him if he wants to stop. He knows that as surely as he knew that Billy would follow him the second he stepped outside the school building, so he presses a little deeper, as slowly as he can manage. The Vaseline slicks his path, easing him inside bit by bit, and his arms are shaking with the effort of holding himself up. He wants to move faster, harder, but he also wants to… to _savour_ this, somehow, like it’s something rare and precious.

Maybe it is. Steve has had a whole bunch of sex, and it’s never felt like this.

Billy is panting, deep agonised groans coming from somewhere deep inside him, like Steve is dragging the sound out of him with every push. He bucks his hips, and Steve slides the remaining couple of inches, his cock fully inside Billy’s ass and his balls flush against Billy’s body.

“Billy,” he says. He’s surprised by how raw his voice sounds.

Slowly, Billy’s legs move, coming up to wrap around Steve’s body. Steve leans closer, and somehow, impossibly, the motion brings him even deeper inside Billy. He’s never been so far inside _anyone_ , never felt so close, never felt like this.

“Steve,” Billy gasps. There’s something wild and desperate in his eyes. “Fuck me.”

Fucking Billy feels… well, it feels incredible. Steve pulls out, just a little, and then thrusts back in, and it’s like nothing else on the planet. He’s not here, in his bedroom, on this earth - he’s somewhere else, somewhere beyond even the Upside Down, somewhere where nothing exists except the deliciousness of fucking Billy, the tight beauty of having every inch of their bodies locked around each other, here in this cramped space that only fits the two of them. Billy is shaking, desperate.

So is Steve.

He tilts his hips, and Billy gives out another muted cry. It makes Steve feel something… _something_ , to hear it, so he adjusts his position and thrusts a little harder in the same spot. As good as he’s feeling, he’s curious about what exactly he’s doing to Billy, to make him thrash about like that, cry out like that. What does it feel like, to be fucked like this? Billy looks wrecked, looks like he’s loving it, like he’s lost control, and Steve—

Steve did that. 

It’s that thought that brings him to the edge. He groans, and his arms crumble underneath his body, and every inch of his body is touching some part of Billy as he comes. He comes _hard_ , and he knows he didn’t last very long but fuck it, Billy doesn’t seem like he’s complaining, legs tightening around Steve’s waist, and it feels good. It feels so fucking good.

“Touch me,” Billy bites out. So Steve pushes his hand down between them, takes hold of Billy’s cock - hard, red, dripping - and jerks him clumsily.

It takes about thirty seconds before Billy is spilling over his hand.

Steve doesn’t actually want to pull out. The sensation of being balls deep inside someone else is so incredible that he doesn’t want to lose it. But Billy is wincing now, and he’s kind of slipping out anyway now that his dick is soft, so with a groan he pushes himself back on his arms and slides out.

The condom is full. Steve pulls it off, tying the top before tossing it in the direction of the trashcan. His fingers are trembling and sweaty.

He crashes onto the bed next to Billy. He feels totally worn out, fucked in a way he’s never felt before after sex. Like his brain has short-circuited, stopped working, so there’s not a single thought in his head. Just sensation, and feeling.

Warmth. Satisfaction. Fucking exhilaration. That’s all he’s aware of.

“Jesus,” he pants.

“Nah,” Billy says, and he looks sideways at Steve, grinning. “Just me, princess.”

Steve reaches over half-heartedly to whack Billy’s shoulder, but he’s smiling back. He can’t help it, not after that.

Billy shivers, and Steve can feel it too; suddenly, now they’re not touching, not fucking, it’s cold in his bedroom. He nudges Billy, pulling at the duvet underneath them, and they both shift and move until they’re underneath it. Steve is on the wrong side of the bed than where he usually sleeps. He looks over at Billy; he looks soft, that wide grin still on his face, and impulsively Steve reaches out to pull him closer.

It feels nice, having Billy’s head resting on his shoulder, his hair spread across Steve’s chest. He almost kisses Billy’s forehead, but that seems a little… a little much, maybe. He’s sure Billy can hear his heartbeat, loud and insistent.

“This okay, princess?” His words are flippant, but there’s something a little wary in Billy’s voice, a little tense.

Steve gets it. This isn’t what he expected either. But he’s really not in the mood to examine it.

So he just nudges Billy with his shoulder, pulls him in tighter. “Jesus, Billy,” he says. “Can’t we just have the afterglow for a fucking minute?”

He doesn’t have to look to feel Billy’s smile.

*

Billy only has to wait a week. 

Steve gives him enough time for his ass to recover from the pleasant soreness, gives him enough time to start wondering—

And then the next Friday someone shoulder-checks Billy by the lockers after lunch, and when Billy whirls around to see who it was he sees Steve, eyes dark and smouldering, and his heart makes a leap up his throat.

Steve looks at him for a second, hot and hungry, and then he turns and melts into the crowd of people hurrying through the corridor, and Billy is left leaning against his locker with his heart thumping and his cock half-hard.

He has to pick Maxine up from school. He didn’t do it last time, forgot to pick her up from her stupid little club after Steve had fucked him, and his dad made him pay. He still has bruises, deep purple and yellow marks on his shoulder and a sore spot on the back of his head. He deliberately doesn’t look for Steve in the parking lot. He’s not sure he’d be able to keep from heading straight to his place.

Max gives him a funny look when she gets in the car. 

“What?” he says brusquely. Things are… _different_ , between them, these days. Billy doesn’t drive quite so fast around the corner when he picks her up, and Maxine doesn’t slam the door when she gets out of the car. Not anymore.

They’re still not on what he would call _good terms_. “You look weird,” she says suspiciously.

“Just my face,” Billy says, because he’s in a good mood. He grins at her when she squints at him. 

She doesn’t say anything else to him, but when she’s out of the car she turns, one hand on the doorframe as she peers at him. He waits. He should find it fucking irritating, but it’s kind of… funny? He’s got no idea when he started finding Maxine _funny_ , but he has to hide a smile as she stares at him.

At last, she closes the car door. Billy watches her walking up to the front steps; she looks back once, and he shakes his head as he drives away.

He’s shaking by the time he gets to Steve’s place, jittery and fucking _high_ with how much he wants it. He’s been wanting it for weeks; one episode of sex, no matter how awesome, isn’t enough to fill him up. He needs more.

It was almost impossible, all through January, ignoring Steve. Calling off Tommy H and his crowd, backing off, waiting. Waiting for Steve to come to him. There’d been times he was ready to break, times he was so fucking horny it felt like he was about to die. The only thing that kept him going was the way Steve looked at him sometimes, just occasionally, like he was mad but also like he was as desperate as Billy. 

It kept Billy waiting. And Jesus Christ, it’s paid off, because what Steve gave him last time… well, Billy’s not been able to stop thinking about it since.

He pulls his jacket around him as he walks up the drive, resisting the urge to break out his pack of smokes. There’ll be time for that, maybe, after Steve fucks him.

Or does whatever the hell he wants to do with him.

Steve takes his time coming to the door. Billy wonders if he’s been waiting upstairs, wonders if Steve’s touched himself thinking about their last time, the way Billy has. The thought makes him shivery.

“Hey,” Steve says, when he finally opens the door. He’s looking good, his hair tossed back from his face, and his eyes - his eyes are the same as they were at school. Dark, heavy with something that makes Billy’s neck heat up, and without thinking he surges forward and presses a hard kiss to Steve’s mouth.

Steve rocks back a little on his heels, but then he’s kissing back, all harsh edges and tightly gripped hands on Billy’s upper arms. Steve’s thumb presses into the old bruise his dad left, but somehow the pain feels _good_ , like any way Steve chooses to touch him will fucking ignite him. 

At last, Steve pulls back, panting a little. He looks slightly dazed. Billy fails in his quest to not feel smug about that.

“Come in,” Steve says, and Billy follows him into the front hall. His chest is still fizzing from the unexpected glory of the kiss.

“Couldn’t wait for long, huh, princess?” he says to Steve with a grin. 

He’s slightly expecting to piss Steve off - _everything_ he does seems to piss Steve off - but Steve just rolls his eyes as he closes the front door. “You want a drink, or something?”

“Sure,” Billy says, startled.

Afterwards, when he’s home, lying in bed and staring up at the ceiling, he remembers Steve’s kitchen the most of all. Sure, being in Steve’s bed was fucking hot, fucking delicious, just like it had been the first time - Steve holding him down, eyes like liquid fire as he fucked Billy, arms locked tightly around him, gloriously naked - but… but there was something about sitting in Steve’s kitchen.

They’d drunk coffee, and Steve had talked about graduation. Banal, just like when they’d been sitting in Billy’s car during the Snow Ball. He could have been talking to any of his friends, if any of his friends ever bothered to have that sort of conversation. It had been… ordinary. Mundane.

Special.

Billy’s never had that, not with anyone. He’s never just talked to someone, talked about school and graduation and movies - Steve hasn’t been to see _The Breakfast Club_ , doesn’t really do movies, and Billy thinks he’s nuts - and fuck, he likes it. 

He likes it with Steve. Likes talking to Steve.

It hadn’t lasted long. Just fifteen minutes, maybe, while they drank their coffee and Billy pretended he wasn’t trying to drag it out. He even made Steve laugh, once, when he spat out a mouthful of coffee over the whole _Breakfast Club_ thing. 

Then it was over, and they went upstairs, Steve tearing off his jacket as he went. Billy left behind a thought of going to see _The Breakfast Club_ together, left it right there in the kitchen, and after that it was a blur of hot skin pressed together, hard biting kisses, the scrape of Steve’s nails digging into his spine, his cock so hard he wanted to _die_ —

It was fucking delicious. 

Afterwards, he lay in Steve’s bed, his head resting on Steve’s arm, and blew smoke at the ceiling. Steve had given him a look when he got out the cigarettes, but he hadn’t said anything.

“Jesus, princess,” Billy puffed out. Steve rolled his eyes. “You sure you haven’t done that before?”

Steve laughed, the sound soft. “Natural talent,” he said, sounding pleased. His face was very close to Billy’s, and it was easy to lean towards it, to drop a closed-mouth kiss on his lips. Steve didn’t seem to object; his arm tightened a little around Billy’s shoulders, and it felt warm, like he wanted to pull Billy closer.

His fingers ghosted over Billy’s shoulder, and then stopped. He said, hesitantly: “Was that me?”

Billy can still hear it, the uncertainty in his voice, the way it felt like he _cared_ , like it _mattered_ —

“What?” he said, at the time.

Steve touched his shoulder again, fingertip pressing into the faded bruises, and Billy understood. He looked away. He didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want a single thought in his head to ruin what was happening. But he couldn’t leave Steve thinking that he’d hurt him, either.

He said, staring out of the window: “Nah. Basketball.”

“Oh,” Steve said. He didn’t sound totally convinced. “Looks… painful.”

Billy bit his tongue, hard, and blinked away the inconvenient prickle of tears. He’s always been too quick to cry. “A little. It’s fine,” he said. His voice sounded normal enough.

Enough for Steve to drop it, anyway, although his palm brushed Billy’s shoulder again, almost comforting, and a minute or two later Billy turned over to apply his mouth to Steve’s cock and coax him into another orgasm, and the topic was left behind.

Still, he thinks about it, when he’s at home. The kitchen, and his bruises. Steve noticing. Steve talking to him. Steve… not hating him. 

It feels good, not to be hated.

So it’s a thing, now. All through the rest of February, through March and April, they fuck. They fool around in the locker room after practice sometimes, Billy sucking hickeys into Steve’s chest, just high enough for Steve to freak out. He punishes Billy for that, pushes him down so that he’s bent over Steve’s cock, forces him to take it, fucks Billy’s mouth until he’s practically choking on it.

It’s not much of a punishment. Billy’s desperate for it, loves the feel of Steve hard in his mouth, the wild heated look in Steve’s eyes when Billy’s blowing him, the way his muscles contract when he comes, hand knotting in Billy’s hair. He always looks faintly guilty for a second after coming, as he looks down at Billy. Guilty, and fucking turned on. Then the guilt disappears - Billy helps it on its way with a grin, sometimes licking his lips to taste more of Steve, knowing how hot Steve finds it - and Steve bites his lip victoriously.

Like coming on Billy’s face has made him a champion.

Once, Billy was on his knees with Steve’s come on his face when they heard someone approaching the locker room. They had to dive for the bathroom stalls, locking themselves into one just as the coach walked into the room. Steve sat on the toilet seat with his knees wedged under his chin so his feet wouldn’t be visible in the gap under the stall, and he had both hands covering his mouth to stop himself from laughing.

Billy didn’t get the joke until he saw himself in a mirror and realised what a mess he was in, but it didn’t matter. He was full of elation anyway, just from seeing Steve laugh.

They fuck in Steve’s bedroom, over and over, fogging up the windows as the heat rises in the room. Mostly Steve fucks Billy, drives into him, pinning him down, covering Billy with every inch of his body - but once or twice they try it the other way around as well. Billy’s nervous, but Steve is fucking terrified. They do it slow, and Billy feels like he’s dying when Steve clenches around his cock.

“Jesus,” Steve gasps, as Billy slides into him. He hasn’t stopped making some sort of noise since Billy started, way more than he usually does, like Billy is taking him apart, piece by piece. He moans, and writhes under Billy’s touch, and he cries out in long, deep groans that make Billy want to fuck into him hard.

He doesn’t. He keeps up with the slow pace, and Steve makes a series of pitiful mewling sounds. “Please,” he begs, and it’s so fucking unlike him. That’s normally Billy’s play. “God, Billy, _fuck_ me.”

So Billy does. Steve’s sweaty, his hair damp when Billy runs his fingers through it. He moves with Billy’s hand, like he’s following the sensation of having his hair stroked, so Billy does it again, and then he tilts his hips and fucks Steve.

It feels like… it feels like nothing else. Nothing in the world Billy has ever done before, with any of the faded insignificant girls he’s hooked up with before, could ever come close to what it feels like to be deep inside Steve, with Steve’s legs wrapped around his hips and his name falling from Steve’s lips.

Afterwards, Steve lies on his back _panting_ from the effort of being fucked, and Billy is wrung out from an orgasm nothing like any other orgasm, and they’re kind of lazily touching each other, and Billy thinks that if he died right then and there it couldn’t be on more of a high.

He’s sporting another couple of bruises, courtesy of his dad. Sometimes Steve notices and sometimes he doesn’t; Billy always downplays them, blames basketball, or messing around with Tommy H, or falling down drunk at his most recent party. It would be easy to let Steve think he did it - Steve _does_ leave marks sometimes, hickeys and scratches and red marks where he’s gripped too tightly while they were fucking - but Billy can’t do that. Can’t let Steve think he’s hurt Billy. Even if sometimes he’s not sure whether Steve would care.

He doesn’t know _how_ Steve feels about him anymore. When they started this - when Billy started it - he knew Steve hated him. He could see it in Steve’s eyes, the anger and the venom, the way he looked down on Billy. It got under his skin, but it also didn’t matter. The way they fucked was too important for that shit to matter. But now…

Now, sometimes Steve laughs when Billy talks. His eyes seem light, the memory of the fight over at the Byers’ place lightyears away. He touches Billy’s face, sometimes, and it’s gentle. He doesn’t seem in such a rush for Billy to leave after they’ve fucked. If Billy indicates he particularly likes something - like when he discovered how much it gets to him when Steve scrapes his teeth along Billy’s collarbone - he seems to deliberately do it again. Like he cares what Billy is into.

Almost like they’re friends, or something.

But then other times, Steve’s face closes off, and Billy knows he’s thinking about something unpleasant. Sometimes he doesn’t want to talk, just wants to fuck, and do it hard and fast with his voice clipped as he barks out orders for Billy to follow.

Billy doesn’t mind. Following Steve’s orders gives him a thrill like nothing else. It shouldn’t; Billy Hargrove doesn’t _take_ orders, doesn’t follow anyone’s rules except his own, but when he’s with Steve it feels like none of that matters. When he’s with Steve, it’s a relief not to think about anything except the feel of Steve, the sound of his voice, and following orders is easy when it’s that good.

He just wishes that the lines were more clearly drawn. 

Still, he’s not complaining. He’s doing the opposite of complaining. He’s the happiest he’s ever been, fucking Steve; he finds himself not needing to yell at Max so often, and when his dad gets mad it’s easier to push down his quick angry responses that usually end with him getting beaten. 1985 is shaping up to be a much, much better year than Billy was anticipating.

Later, he figures it’s his own fault, for getting so goddamn complacent.

*

“Steve,” Nancy says, and it’s got to be the third or fourth time. Steve isn’t really listening, can’t concentrate on the sound of Nancy’s voice - it’s been a long time since he’s felt the need to jump to her tune.

Her voice is kind of annoying, actually.

“ _Steve_!” she exclaims, and he turns to look at her. “Are you listening to me?”

“No,” he says mulishly, but he softens it with a smile. She’s standing in front of him at his locker, her forehead creased in a funny little frown. “What’s up?”

Nancy tilts her head to one side, in that way that means she’s about to say something irritatingly self-righteous. God, he _hates_ that he still knows all her expressions, and he especially hates that most of them piss him off. “Steve,” she says, in a gentle voice that sets his teeth on edge. “I’m worried about you.” Her eyes flicker across the hall, to where Byers is standing pretending that he’s not hovering. “ _We’re_ worried about you.”

“Sweet of you,” Steve says drily.

He’s supposed to be meeting Billy later, after he’s taken Dustin home. He’s been looking forward to it, looking forward to the heady rush he only gets from stripping Billy bare, from running his hands all over Billy’s body, pressing hard kisses to every inch of Billy’s chest, feeling Billy’s mouth on his cock, pushing inside Billy, _fucking_ Billy—

“Steve?” Nancy says, and Steve blinks, coming back to the present.

His shoulders hunch up by his ears. “What do you want me to say, Nancy?” _I’m not your business anymore_. He’s thinking it, and he’s sure she _knows_ he’s thinking it, but he doesn’t say it.

“You don’t spend any time with your friends anymore,” she says, like some kind of fucking _concerned parent_. “You don’t go out, you don’t speak up in class - Mike says you spend half your time with _Dustin_ —”

“Don’t say it like that,” Steve says irritably. “You don’t get to say that, not after what we all went through—”

“I’m just saying that maybe your only friend shouldn’t be a thirteen-year-old,” she says.

Steve looks away. It makes it sound… stupid, when she says it like that, but who else is he supposed to spend time with? Who else understands what happened to him, to all of them? It’s not like he has too many friends these days anyway, not since he and Tommy H had their big bust-up - _over_ Nancy, for fuck’s sake, so who does she think she is to complain about it now? And sure, there are other people he could hang out with, but the idea is exhausting. To talk to someone, and pretend like what happened… _didn’t_ happen.

There’s no way to articulate any of this to Nancy. She wouldn’t understand; she has Byers, now. “Thanks for the concern, Nancy, but I’m fine,” he says tightly. He _hates_ the sympathetic expression in her eyes. “I don’t need you watching out for me.”

“Steve,” she says softly. “I’m your friend.”

“No, you’re not,” he interrupts roughly. “You’re my ex-girlfriend. You left me, remember? You don’t get to do this just because you feel guilty. You’ve got nothing to do with me anymore.”

She steps back like he’s slapped her. “We went through so much together—”

“No, we didn’t,” he says, voice harsh. “You and Byers went through so much together, and me, I went through a different bunch of shit, that you’ve got no idea about. You’ve never even fucking asked. I went through it with the kids, Dustin especially, so fuck you for acting like we shouldn’t have… shouldn’t have _connected_ , or whatever, over it. But you and me, the only thing we went through together was breaking up, and even that part mostly happened when I wasn’t there.”

He’s breathing heavily by the time he’s done, and Nancy’s eyes look damp. He doesn’t care. What does she expect, that he’s going to lie to her? That everything’s going to be some fucking Hallmark card, where he’s somehow totally fine with her leaving him for the creep next door? Right now, he can’t remember why he even liked her in the first place.

“Okay,” Nancy says, her voice trembling. “Okay, I get that you’re hurt, but…”

“But nothing,” he says. “Leave me alone, Nancy.”

She hesitates. And then she obeys. Steve turns back to her locker, although he doesn’t miss Byers coming to put an arm around her shoulders as she walks away.

He’s in a foul fucking mood for the rest of the day. He’s done everything he can to push everything that happened to the back of his mind: the Upside Down, the break-up with Nancy, the debilitating fear of the monsters, the sense that he’s always been the least important part of the fight. But now it’s swirling around his brain, and he can’t let it go.

Talking to Dustin should make him feel better, but when he pulls up outside the middle school, Dustin comes running over with an apologetic look on his face.

“Um, Steve, I think I’m going to go to Lucas’ place for dinner,” he says. “Lucas’ mom is picking us up. Sorry!”

Dustin is pretty much the only person Steve can’t ever be mad at, so he manages a tight: “Yeah, no problem,” before driving away. But it feels shitty. 

Shitty because Nancy was right: a thirteen-year-old really shouldn’t be his only friend. He can’t talk to Dustin about this, can’t unload how fucking nasty it felt to hear Nancy talking to him like she was the put-together mom to his messy adolescent. Dustin’s just a kid. It’s not his job to help Steve out, that’s not the role he plays for Steve, as much as they get on. They can bond over the Upside Down, and Steve can play big brother, but it’s not an equal friendship in that way. 

Suddenly, Steve feels so alone that he’s _desolate_.

His house is empty, his parents away as usual, and _fuck_ , he’s angry. Angry that the Upside Down has taken everything away from him - his social life, his girlfriend, his sense of himself - and angry that it wasn’t really the Upside Down. It was just… him. And maybe Nancy, a bit.

The anger is hot inside him, burning through his whole body. He needs to lash out, needs to make something bleed, but there are no demodogs here for him to hit with a nail-studded baseball bat. It’s just him.

Steve starts when the doorbell rings. He’d forgotten that Billy’s supposed to be coming over. Earlier, all he’d been able to think about was how it would feel to have his cock inside Billy, but now… now, he just wants Billy to fuck off.

He opens the door. Billy has his usual smug fucking grin on his face, his hair perfectly styled over his shoulders, flashing his teeth. It’s so fucking unfair. Even Billy Hargrove gets to be normal, gets to look good and have friends and be popular, and Billy Hargrove is an _asshole_. Steve was an asshole once, but he let all that go for Nancy. And where did that get him?

“Afternoon, pretty boy,” Billy says lazily, and Steve feels his blood start to heat. He hates the nicknames, the stupid fucking nicknames Billy always insists on using—

“You coming in?” he says brusquely. 

Billy raises his eyebrows, walking inside. “Someone piss in your juicebox today, Harrington?”

Harrington. He _hates_ when Billy calls him that, hates it more than anything, and he’s sure Billy knows it. He says angrily: “Oh, fuck you.”

“Whoa,” Billy says, raising his hands. “Touchy!” He grins, like it should be some big fucking joke.

Then he leans forward, and his mouth finds Steve’s.

Steve pushes him away, the motion rough and jerky. He can’t bear to do it, can’t bear to kiss Billy, to have such a stark reminder that he’s doing this. Fucking Billy, a _guy_ , and as good as it’s been for the last couple of months, he feels a wave of disgust rush through him. This is how low he’s sunk: finding release in someone who beat the shit out of him, who never apologised, who took his position at school, stole his friends - and someone who isn’t even a girl.

Billy’s standing still, his face unreadable. Steve can’t remember the last time he pushed Billy away. He’s not sure if he ever has.

“What are you looking at?” he snarls at Billy, hot and angry and miserable. “What do you want?”

“What’s wrong with you?” Billy asks quietly.

Steve hates the way he’s saying it. Hates the steadiness of his gaze, the lack of anger, lack of _fire_. Why is no one angry except him? Why has everyone changed _except him_?

He says furiously: “What do you care, huh? You’re here for a fuck, right?”

There’s a beat, while Billy seems to be thinking about this. His brow is furrowed, like he’s trying to understand. At last, he says slowly: “We don’t have to fuck, if you don’t want to.”

“If you don’t want to fuck, then you can just—” Steve starts.

“We could talk, if you want,” Billy interrupts. His voice is unusually serious. 

Steve stares at him. “Talk,” he repeats flatly.

Billy shrugs. “You could tell me what’s wrong with you.”

“We don’t do that,” Steve says scornfully. His heart is pounding, his head aching. “We fuck, Billy. That’s what we do. Do you want to fuck?”

Billy gives him another unreadable look. “If that’s what you want,” he says.

“Get in the lounge, then,” Steve commands, and Billy - Billy obeys.

He walks ahead of Steve into the lounge, and once he’s there he takes off his shoes and socks without being prompted. Steve looks at him, Billy Hargrove, king of the school, standing barefoot in Steve’s living room, and at last there’s something settling inside his chest. Because, sure, it’s fucking pathetic that he’s been reduced to fucking Billy Hargrove, but at least he can do this. At least he gets to be someone who can tell Billy to do something, and Billy… Billy will do it. Billy will obey.

There’s a tiny part of him, somewhere deep inside the dark swirling pain tightening around him, that feels something else about that. Something like… awe. But he pushes that feeling down, because that feeling is connected to the side of him that likes hanging out with Billy, that thinks Billy is funny, and hot, and interesting, and that side of him is fucked up. That side of him is pathetic.

“Feeling better?” Billy asks, and it’s too cocky. Too smug. Steve hates it.

“Take your clothes off,” he orders.

Billy’s face does something odd - twists, like he’s thinking about _not_ obeying. Steve frowns. But before he can repeat the command, Billy slowly starts stripping off his jacket.

He looks sexy when he does it. He _knows_ he looks sexy when he does it, that’s why he moves so slowly, so deliberately - but there’s still an odd look on his face, and Steve doesn’t like it. He says coldly: “Problem, Hargrove?”

“No,” Billy says quietly, and the jacket drops to the floor. “No problem.”

“Good,” Steve says. Billy is beginning to unbutton his shirt; he’s wearing a tight white t-shirt underneath it. “You know, if there’s a problem, you can always do something about it, right?”

Billy frowns at him, like he doesn’t understand. Like he wasn’t _there_. “What?”

“Isn’t that what you do, when there’s a problem?” Steve presses. “You just take a swing, right?”

 _Now_ he’s got the hit in. Billy flinches, and his fingers fumble on his third button. 

“You just smash shit up, don’t you?” Steve taunts. Slowly, Billy resumes his careful undressing. He doesn’t speak, and it’s pissing Steve off. He wants to hear it, hear what Billy has to say back. “Terrorise kids, break everything around you, beat the crap out of me, right?”

Billy takes off the shirt, dropping it to the ground. His fingers find the hem of his t-shirt.

“Did it feel good, beating me up?” Steve asks. “Did you enjoy seeing my blood on your fists?”

The t-shirt slides up and off Billy’s body in one fluid motion. Billy looks good. He looks _so_ fucking good.

“Did you know I had to go to the hospital?” Steve says. It’s true, even if it didn’t happen until much, much later. “I had a concussion and a fractured cheekbone. Did you know that?”

“No,” Billy says. His voice isn’t what Steve wants it to be. It’s very, very quiet. “I didn’t know that.” He unbuckles his belt. His face is very pale.

Steve takes a step forward. “Yeah, I guess you weren’t really bothered about finding out, huh? Didn’t even think about it, did you?”

Billy’s pants drop, and he steps out of them, kicking them to one side. It’s just his boxers left. He says: “Do you want me to answer you?”

“I’m asking, right?” Steve says harshly. He nods towards the boxers. “Take them off.”

“You’re not going to, are you?” Billy says. He sounds like he knows the answer. He sounds… resigned. Flat.

Steve takes another step forward. “I said, _take them off_ ,” he spits.

Billy takes them off. 

He’s not hard.

Steve’s not sure how he feels about that. Billy’s _always_ hard for him. But at the same time, it feels kind of powerful, too. He’s hard, and Billy isn’t. He gets this, and Billy doesn’t.

He feels a little sick.

“Does it bother you?” he snarls. “Fucking the guy you beat up? Beating up the guy you’re fucking?” When Billy doesn’t answer immediately, he half-yells: “Well?”

Billy’s hands, Steve notices, are trembling, just a little. “Yes,” he says. “It bothers me.”

“Get down on your knees,” Steve says.

Billy gets down on his knees. The movement is graceful, almost beautiful, and for a minute Steve actually wants to cry. Wants to… fuck, to get down there with him? To hug him, to talk to him the way he suggested? To let Billy Hargrove comfort him while he cries?

What a fucking joke.

Still, he can appreciate how good Billy looks, kneeling there with his back straight and his chest broad and smooth and delicious like that. He’s looking Steve right in the eyes, hard and serious, and suddenly Steve knows exactly what he wants to do.

He says: “You ever apologise for something before, Hargrove? Ever apologised for anything in your whole life?”

“I’ve apologised for things,” Billy replies evenly.

Steve is unbuckling his belt, pushing his pants and boxers just far enough down that he can get his cock out unencumbered. He’s not particularly hard, but not totally soft either. Billy’s eyes flick down to it, getting a little rounder as he begins working his hand up and down the shaft.

“Never thought of apologising to me though, right?” Steve says. It’s like… like the words are poison, and even though they make him sick, it feels good in some twisted way to say them, to push them from the inside of his brain into the room.

Billy says, eyes still on Steve’s cock: “I - I have.”

Steve continues to fuck into his own fist. He doesn’t like the way Billy is looking at him, doesn’t like the way Billy’s voice fractured over his words, doesn’t like the part of him that feels cruel. “Yeah?” he pants. 

“Yeah,” Billy says. He’s not looking at Steve anymore. His eyes are on the floor.

Steve pumps his hand faster. “Touch yourself,” he says.

Billy obediently takes hold of his own cock. He gasps at the touch, and Steve - Steve wants to be the one doing it. Wants to blow Billy or even have Billy fuck him again. Wants _contact_ , deep contact spreading all over him. 

Apart from the single aborted kiss when Billy first arrived, they haven’t touched at all.

But he can’t have that. He can’t let himself touch Billy, because if he does he’s not sure if he’ll be able to stop.

So he jerks himself, fast and hard, and he watches Billy doing the same, and when Billy is tipping his head back in the way that means he’s getting there, he says: “Are you going to?”

“Going - going to what?” Billy pants.

“Apologise,” Steve says. His voice sounds distant, like he’s speaking from somewhere far away. “Are you going to apologise to me, Hargrove?”

Billy’s eyes snap to his, and his hand stills on his cock. There’s something fierce and burning in his expression, and it makes Steve’s chest soar. When he speaks, his voice is hard. 

“Is that what you want?”

Steve leans forward. “Yeah,” he says. He motions towards Billy with his free hand. “Don’t stop.”

Billy resumes stroking his hand up and down his cock. He’s moving slowly, and he hasn’t stopped looking at Steve. He looks… he looks _beautiful_ , like this, down on the floor at Steve’s feet, and Steve is filled with a rush of things he wants, things he wants to be able to do and to feel, but he can’t, he _can’t_ , and instead he says roughly: “I want to hear you say it, Hargrove. Say something you don’t mean. Tell me—” his voice breaks “—tell me you’re _sorry_.”

For a moment, Billy doesn’t say anything. He just keeps jerking himself, and Steve suddenly realises that they’re on the edge of something. Some kind of line. If he keeps going… if he keeps going, he might not be able to pull back.

“Is that what you want?” Billy says at last, for the second time.

Like he’s giving Steve a chance to change his mind.

But Steve can’t change his mind. The world is closing in around him, full of everything Nancy did to him, everything the Upside Down did to him, everything _Billy_ did to him—

He has to be able to _do something_ himself. Even if this is all it amounts to.

“Yeah,” he says, and his voice feels like it doesn’t belong to him anymore. “That’s what I want.”

He can see it happening, right in front of him. Billy’s face changes, twists and then _hardens_ , and he moves just the slightest fraction backwards. Away from Steve.

He says: “I’m sorry, Steve.”

“For what?” Steve says meanly, and Billy takes a deep, gulping breath. He hasn’t stopped touching himself.

“I’m sorry I hit you,” he says. “I’ve been sorry for a long time. I shouldn’t have - I should never—” He stops, takes a breath. “None of it should have happened. Hurting you, hurting Max’s friends… I hate myself for it. I’m sorry.”

Steve’s mouth is slightly open. Something is _hurting_ him, like a knife twisting in his belly, and suddenly he wants to take it all back. He wants not to have asked, not to have pushed this. He wants to go back, back to when Billy asked if he wanted to talk, and he wants to say yes.

“Billy,” he says, and then stops, because he has no idea how to undo what he’s started.

“I’m close,” Billy says abruptly. He’s looking at Steve’s cock, not at his face. “I’m close. Can I…”

Steve nods. “Yes,” he says. “Shit. Come for me, Billy.” There’s something hollow in his voice.

And Billy does come. It spatters over his hand and up his bare stomach, and under any other circumstances it would have pushed Steve right over the edge. But right now, in spite of his mechanical jerking, Steve is about as far from coming as he could possibly be.

Slowly, Billy gets to his feet. He snags his boxers as he stands, wiping his hand and stomach with them, and then he puts them on. He’s not looking at Steve. He’s looking anywhere _but_ at Steve, and Steve knows what it means.

For better or worse, he’s ended this thing that they have.

Billy doesn’t speak as he gets dressed. Doesn’t look at Steve as he heads for the door. 

For better or worse. Right now, it feels like worse.

*

Billy graduates. He has to stand next to Harrington in the alphabetical line, because of _course_ he does, but they both look determinedly in opposite directions and it’s not as awkward as it could be.

He’s been feeling pretty spacey since… well, since things ended with Harrington. He’s been trying not to think about it, trying not to picture the harsh angry lines of Harrington’s face, the way his expression was contorted with a hatred Billy had thought he didn’t feel anymore. Obviously he’d been wrong.

Obviously.

He’d known, from the first moment he crashed into Harrington in the locker room, that this thing between them couldn’t last. That at some point Harrington would remember exactly who Billy is, and why he doesn’t want anything to do with him. But somehow… somehow, over the last few weeks, he’d started to forget that he knew it. Started to hope that he was wrong.

What a fucking moron.

It’s not like there hadn’t been a part of him that wanted to apologise. He’s been thinking about it abstractly for months now. But that hadn’t been how he’d pictured it going down - Harrington dragging it out of him, using it as a stick to beat him with. Puncturing the fucking idiotic idea Billy had of this thing lasting.

It’s his own fault. He was the one following Harrington around like a stupid little puppy dog, obeying every fucking command that came out of his stupid mouth. He should have known better than to forget how the whole thing had started. Should have remembered that he doesn’t get to have good things. He’s not even sure Harrington _was_ a good thing, not really, because as good as Billy’s been feeling over the last few months, he feels ten times shittier now. He’s not sure it was worth it.

So he ignores Harrington on graduation day, and Harrington ignores him right back. There’s no one in the crowd for Billy when he walks across the stage and struggles not to roll his eyes as the principal offers his hand to shake. Susan’s working, Max is at school, and he’s not sure his dad even remembered he was graduating today.

Harrington’s parents are here. He sees them with him after the ceremony.

Harrington looks around, and Billy hastily walks away.

He’s glad Harrington has people here. They never talked about it much, but Billy could tell he was lonely, his parents out of the country eight months out of the year. Harrington’s an _asshole_ , what he did to Billy was - well, maybe it was deserved, but it was still a dick move - but even so, Billy’s glad he has his parents with him at graduation.

As for himself, well. He goes to Tommy’s party, gets high and fucks some girl whose name he can’t remember.

And that’s his summer set up for him, really. Partying, partying _hard_ , with as much booze and weed as he can manage, and sometimes a line of coke if Chris Baker - Hawkins’ local dealer - is feeling generous. Girls, girls everywhere, girls every night of the week. They _love_ him. They love his slicked-back hair, his leather jacket, the rings on his fingers and the music he blasts as he drives his car. He wears tank tops and jean shorts, unbuttons his flowered shirts halfway down his chest, takes to winking at every woman he meets regardless of how attractive she’s looking that day.

And they love it. They fall into his arms. It’s so fucking easy.

It makes him feel empty, fucking them. They’re nothing to him, like they barely exist, and although they can make him feel good for a minute or two, it’s no comparison to the way he knows he _can_ feel. He knows what’s possible, he knows how incredible sex is capable of being, and this doesn’t come close.

It doesn’t matter.

The mall opens right after school finishes, and for a while Billy hangs out there, sprawling on the benches outside the food court with Tommy H and Carol and the rest of the crowd, picking up girls as they wander past. Then Harrington gets a job at the ice cream parlour, and Billy decides to find somewhere else to make his plays.

It’s mid-June when his dad hits him again. Billy is a little drunk, definitely shouldn’t have been driving, and his shirt is open and slipping off his arms. Neil’s waiting in the living room, face contorted with rage, and Susan and Max are conspicuously absent.

Nothing like the sight of his dad to sober him up. Billy’s grin fades from his face like it was never there.

“You’re a disgrace,” Neil spits at him. “You’re a goddamn whore.”

Billy cracks a smile at that, can’t help it - his dad’s not _wrong_ , after all, but he doesn’t know why. No one knows why, no one knows that Billy’s heart is breaking—

There’s a loud _crack_ , as his dad’s hand whips into the side of his face. 

Billy grunts and straightens up, in time for Neil to shove him up against the wall. His back hits the corner of the light fixture, and his head smacks the wall. He’s going to be covered in bruises. Neil growls: “You need to start _contributing_ , d’you hear me? You’re not a child anymore. If you’re going to waste your life then you can find somewhere else to do it.”

“Yes, sir,” Billy mumbles. His head is spinning.

Neil shakes him a little. “What are you going to do?” he demands.

“Contribute,” Billy says, and at last his dad releases him.

“Good,” he says. His beady eyes are fixed on Billy. “See that you do.”

So Billy gets a job. He steers clear of the mall - Harrington has claimed it, and he’s not going anywhere near - but luckily they’re hiring lifeguards at the local pool, and it’s a job made for someone who looks like Billy. He spends a day doing a life-saving training course, during which the girl teaching it bats her eyelashes at him in an expectant kind of way, and then he’s hired.

He’s surprised to find he actually enjoys it. He gets to walk around topless all day under the heat of the June sun, and it’s not often that anyone actually gets into trouble in the water, so it’s mostly a lot of sitting around catching rays. He parties with the other teenage employees, and preens in front of the admiring gaze of Hawkins’ more mature ladies.

Neil takes half his pay in rent. Billy only gets to keep the rest because he’s got the good sense to lie about how much he gets.

He doesn’t really have a plan for when the summer ends. The pool will be closed then, everyone heading back to school, and Billy will have to figure out his next step. Get a job here in Hawkins, a real job? He can’t think of anything worse. College is off the table - he’s got the grades for it, but his dad will never stump up the cash. Maybe he can take the money he’s saved from the lifeguarding gig and head back to Cali. 

It’s kind of depressing to realise he has nothing. No friends, no connections, nowhere to go. Even Tommy H is planning on going to college in the fall. 

Still, he has months before he has to think about it properly, so instead he concentrates on partying and fucking and saving as much money as he can. It’s not a terrible way to spend the summer.

Sure, his winter was better. But that’s done now. No point in crying over it.

So he goes on, and when Mrs Wheeler appears in a new swimsuit that accentuates her curves, he takes it as the invitation it is. She’s flustered, when he corners her as she’s getting out of the pool, but he can tell she likes it. Just like Harrington, she’s been wanting it, but she hadn’t expected him to do anything about it.

Fuck that. Billy _always_ does something about it. He’s the guy that pulls the rug out from under a girl’s feet, because she’d been expecting politeness and he’s just fucking brazen.

Mrs Wheeler’s no different from any of the high school girls Billy’s been working his way through all summer. She flutters and drops her towel, but in the end she’s beaming at him and agreeing to meet.

And if Harrington’s face pops into Billy’s head, right as he’s watching her sashay away, it doesn’t fucking matter. So what, if Billy sleeps with his ex-girlfriend’s mother? Why should Billy care? Harrington’s nothing to him.

Not any more.

His dad isn’t home that night, so there’s no one to put a damper on Billy’s enthusiasm as he gets himself ready. He’s looking _good_ when he gets into his car that evening. The same old pain is still hovering in the pit of his stomach, but what’s the point in thinking about that? It won’t go away if he mopes around doing nothing, so he might as well try and enjoy himself.

He looks into his interior mirror, makes himself chuckle like his old self. “Hey, Karen,” he tries out. His grin feels tight on his face. “You don’t mind if I call you Karen, do you?”

She’s going to melt, just like they all do. He grins again, flashing his teeth.

That’s when something smashes into the side of the car, sending him careening off the road.

Billy Hargrove isn’t afraid of anything. That’s true whether it’s his dad, whaling into him for some reason Billy can’t remember, or whether it’s Harrington, whaling into him for a reason he wishes he could forget. It’s true when he’s standing in the dark on the outskirts of Hawkins, his car a wreck by the side of the road, screaming out in the blackness. 

It’s true when _something_ wrenches his feet out from underneath him, yanking him backwards so fast that it’s all Billy can do to yell. He’s not afraid. He’s just _angry_ , so fucking angry, a boiling lonely rage that blasts out of him as he’s pulled into the abandoned building. He fights, because Billy Hargrove always fights. He fights because no asshole is going to kill him out here in the middle of nowhere. He’s stronger than every motherfucker he’s ever met. He’s not afraid of anything.

It turns out he’s not afraid of anything _human_.

It _invades_ him. He doesn’t even know what it is, but it invades him. At first it looks like something out of a horror movie, dripping and gory and covered in blood, and it’s gripping him around the neck, smothering him, holding him so effortlessly that it doesn’t matter how strong he is. It doesn’t matter if he’s afraid or not, if he’s angry or not, it doesn’t matter if he rules the school or if he can fuck any girl he wants, none of it matters, because the thing holding him is bigger than any of that.

Then it releases him, and he’s running, because he’s not an idiot. He starts his car and speeds towards the nearest phone booth. Who can he call? He has no one to call. His dad won’t care, and Harrington - why is he thinking of Harrington? He doesn’t know Harrington’s phone number, and it doesn’t matter anyway. He calls the cops.

He calls the cops, but it’s too late. The thing is coming.

It doesn’t look like a horror movie anymore. Now it’s something else. Something worse, something so much worse, so much more frightening, and Billy wants to scream, but he can’t. He’s so cold that he can’t scream. He’s so cold, it’s like the cold has seeped into his bones, like there’s a river of ice in his blood. 

He looks into his own eyes, impassive and empty. “I don’t understand!” he cries. “I don’t understand!”

It seems to be gone, but it’s not. He can feel it, the icy alien presence weighing him down, and he’s dragged deeper into despair than he’s ever been.

He imagines smashing Karen Wheeler into the wall, breaking her into tiny pieces. The effort it takes him to walk away leaves him shaking, shaking and reeling and destroyed. “Stay away from me, Karen,” he spits out, and he knows she’ll take it as a threat but it’s not. It’s the opposite. 

It’s a warning.

His whole world is tiny. It’s just him and the monster in his head, making every limb heavy, turning the sun into a boiling vat of torture. His skin blisters under the heat, his head spinning. He wants to throw up. He wants to disappear.

Inside, he’s screaming. But his body isn’t his own anymore. This body - this body has done so many things that have made Billy feel like shit. This body beat Harrington bloody. This body tormented Max, put the fear of God into her little friends. This body has fucked so many girls that he didn’t really want.

But it’s still _his_ body. Or it was.

Now he can only watch. Only feel. He can’t move on his own. Can’t decide where to step, can’t speak up. His screams make his ears ring, but no one else can hear them. They stay inside, locked away while his body ties Heather up in the trunk of his car and carries her to the lair of the beast. The words that his mouth murmurs into her ear are not his own. The impassive gaze of his eyes doesn’t belong to him.

Still, he knows what it feels like to do these things to her. The monster takes away everything but that, everything except the memory of hurting someone.

And then he feels her. The ghost of someone, someone who shouldn’t be there, someone _watching him_ —

“Help me!” he screams, but she can’t hear him, because his words stay trapped inside his head. The thing controlling him stares at her, and she flickers away, and whatever hope Billy had disappears.

He sees her again at Heather’s house. The thing controlling him _knows_ her, somehow, and when she looks at him he sees an enemy - which means that maybe she’s a friend. Maybe she can help him. But he’s so deep inside his own useless body by then that he can’t make so much as a flicker, he can’t tell her he needs her, he can’t reach out, not even to Max—

They leave, and he’s alone. He’s so alone.

Except for the monster in his head.

When he sees her again, the time before he dies, she locks him into the sauna and it’s so hot he wants to die. So hot that the shadow fades away, and he can look into Maxine’s eyes, see her crying, hear her tell him that everything will be okay. He almost believes her. He comes so close to believing her.

Then the monster takes over, and feeling it use him to try and kill his sister is one step too far.

Billy disappears.

*

It feels really unfair that Steve has to get beaten up again.

Every goddamn Upside Down bullshit adventure seems to include a side dose of Steve having his ass kicked, and when he took down the Russian freak in the comms room he’d thought he’d finally escaped the trend. But no. Here he is again, getting his face pounded by the Russians, and unlike with Jonathan and Billy Steve’s not sure he’s going to make it out of this one.

But he’s with Robin, and if he had to pick someone to die with, it would have to be her.

“Do you remember Mrs Click’s sophomore history class?” she asks him, when they’re lying on the floor tied to a pair of chairs. She’s been laughing, and Steve’s not sure if she’s totally human, but he also thinks he adores her.

“What?” he says. His face is aching from the beatdown.

He can feel her head turning, like she’s trying to look at him. “Mrs Clickety-clackety? That’s what us band dweebs called her,” she says. “It was first period, Tuesdays and Thursdays, so you were always late, and you always had the same breakfast. Bacon, egg and cheese on a sesame bagel. I sat behind you, two days a week, for a year.” She pauses, and Steve feels something twist inside him. “Mr Funny. Mr Cool,” she goes on. “The king of Hawkins High himself. Do you even remember me from that class?”

He doesn’t. He doesn’t remember her. The first time he remembers meeting Robin was his first shift at Scoops Ahoy, when he’d taken one look at her and dismissed her in his head. 

“Of course you don’t,” Robin says. “You were a real asshole, you know that?”

“Yeah, I know,” Steve says heavily. He’s agreeing with her, because he _was_ an asshole at school, but there’s more to it than that. He just can’t go there in his head.

She speaks as though she hasn’t even heard him. “But it didn’t even matter,” she says. “It didn’t matter that you were an ass, I was still _obsessed_ with you. Even though all of us losers pretend to be above it all, we still just want to be popular. Accepted. Normal.”

Steve knows she’s not expecting a response, but he wants to give her one. Somehow, Robin matters, in a way no one he’s spent time with recently has mattered. Well, almost no one, but he’s not going to think about that now. He says: “If it makes you feel any better, having those things isn’t all that great.” He thinks about everything he’s thrown away, and he knows he’s telling the truth. “Seriously. It just baffles me, everything that people tell you is important, everything that people say you should care about, it’s all just…” He trails off, remembering Nancy, her creased serious face drunk in that bathroom. “Bullshit,” he finishes, echoing her words. He takes a deep breath. “But I guess you gotta mess up to figure things out, right?”

“I hope so,” Robin says. “I feel like my whole life has been one big error.”

And somehow, it’s easy to laugh. Robin has a nice laugh, and being here with her is easy, and light, even though they’re probably about to die. Yeah, there’s no one else Steve would rather die with. Not even Nancy.

Nancy left him alone, after their disastrous conversation in the hall. That, Steve truly doesn’t give a shit about. It’s a shock to discover that he’s _over_ Nancy, that he doesn’t love her anymore, and sometimes he wonders how deep that love ever really was. She feels a million miles away from him now. She’s part of a life he doesn’t inhabit anymore, so serious and so focused, while Steve… well, he’s not either of those things, not really.

Not focused. He didn’t get the grades for college. His dad gave him shit for it, and there’s a part of him that feels like shit for it, but there’s a bigger part of him that doesn’t really care all that much. 

Not serious. He _likes_ goofing around with Dustin, likes being his surrogate big brother, hearing all about his new girlfriend, getting involved with his world. Nancy’s never been that close to Mike, and there’s a reason why. She’s not… not _silly_ , the way Steve absolutely has the capacity to be, doesn’t laugh much, doesn’t like the same sort of stupid fun he likes. And it’s not about partying, not about that old life as king of the school - it’s about being himself, and being himself sometimes means just being relaxed and silly, and Nancy doesn’t fit into that at all.

Robin fits into it. And there were moments when Billy did, too, but Steve’s not thinking about that.

No, Steve is nothing like the guy that Nancy wants, and she’s nothing like the girl he wants either. He wants a girl… well, he wants a girl like Robin. And although he can’t imagine himself kissing her, or holding her hand, or taking her out to dinner, he can’t think of another girl he wants in his life like he wants her.

Dustin had told him not to focus on popularity. Steve had said that Robin’s not his type, and he’d meant it - but if he could just change his mind about that, she’d be the perfect girl. 

“I liked being your schmuck,” he tells her. “It was fun while it lasted.”

He can almost feel her smile. “It was,” she says.

Then the door opens, and the Russians come back into the room.

Somewhere, abstractly, Steve knows he’s frightened. Later on, if he survives this, the fear will envelop him, and he won’t be able to control it. But just like every other time he’s faced the Upside Down, when he’s right here in the moment somehow he doesn’t feel afraid. He’s just tired, and pissed off, and kind of freaked out.

Especially when they stab him in the side of the neck with a giant fucking needle. And right after that, they go for Robin, and he yells out, because he doesn’t want them to hurt her.

Goddamnit, he’s getting fucking sentimental. The last month or so has been hard. Harder than Steve had thought, when he’d watched Billy walk out of his house for the last time. It shouldn’t have mattered. Billy is a guy, and Billy is an asshole, and even though Steve knows that what he said at the end wasn’t really okay, it shouldn’t matter. Wasn’t the whole point of the thing they were doing that he could do anything to Billy Hargrove?

And he _had_ done anything. He’d done the worst thing, said cruel things, pushed Billy lower than he already was.

He’d known it was over from the moment the words had left his lips. He wanted not to care.

He can see Billy’s face in his head, kind of swimming around, like there’s something unstable about it. It’s beautiful, Billy’s face. He has beautiful eyes, and a beautiful nose - and what the hell is beautiful about a nose? That’s a ridiculous thing to think about, and Steve finds himself laughing, laughter tumbling out between his lips, all because of Billy Hargrove’s beautiful nose.

Robin is laughing too, and isn’t that the prettiest sound ever? Isn’t it lovely, to hear her laugh? The Russians wanted to do something bad to him, but they’ve accidentally done something good instead. They’ve shown him all the beautiful things in the world. He’s pretty sure they didn’t mean to do that. He laughs, because they’re so _stupid_ —

“Morons,” Robin agrees, and then they’re both laughing again. Steve feels like he’s floating, floating on air. The Russians are morons, and Robin is lovely and Billy - Billy is beautiful and painful all at the same time.

When Dustin comes into the room, Steve is surprised to see him. Weren’t they already talking? Or was he talking _about_ Dustin? Yeah, that was it, he was talking _about_ Dustin, and now Dustin is here, like Steve called him. Can Steve do that? Can he call people to him, just by thinking about them?

He thinks about Billy, as hard as he can. He wants Billy here right now, beautiful Billy with his beautiful nose.

Billy doesn’t arrive, but it’s alright, because Robin is here. Dustin seems very serious, like Nancy, and it’s so funny. Everything is funny. 

Billy stood next to him, when they were graduating. That’s funny too, because when you stand so close, you’re supposed to talk to each other - that’s the _rules_ , that’s how it’s supposed to be, but he and Billy hadn’t spoken at all, and isn’t that ridiculous? It’s funny because it’s so _stupid_. Why didn’t he talk to Billy? He wants to talk to Billy. 

Oh, but that hurts. It hurts to think about talking to Billy. Why does it hurt? It hurts, so he doesn’t think about Billy anymore. He watches the movie in the stupid seats, and eats leftover popcorn, and Robin holds his hand and they laugh, and laugh, and laugh.

“Look,” she says, and she’s pointing to the door. “That’s the portal, Steve. If we go through it—”

“We go to the future?” he whispers, because that’s what’s happening in the movie. 

Robin shakes her head seriously. “No, it’s the past,” she tells him. Steve thinks about it. He’d like to go back in time. He wants to talk to Billy at graduation. He wants it not to hurt.

“Okay,” he says, and they leave the popcorn behind and walk through the portal.

The portal doesn’t lead the the past. Billy isn’t there. But there’s water, and it tastes good, and Steve tries to think about the movie and then he’s looking up at the stars. Are they stars? Stars are romantic. He sat with Nancy, once, looking up at the stars, although he doesn’t feel romantic when he thinks about Nancy. Now he’s looking up at the stars with Robin.

He doesn’t know how he feels about Robin. She’s one of his favourite people in the world, next to Dustin, and he thinks he should probably fall in love with her. Nancy used to be one of his favourite people, and she was a girl, and he fell in love with her. Isn’t that the way the story is supposed to go?

It’s no clearer when he’s sobered up.

“My turn,” Robin says. Steve is sitting on the floor of the bathroom stall, leaning against the wall with a splitting headache and a rolling stomach, but he’s still glad to be there with her. Doesn’t that mean he feels something for her?

He says, pinching the bridge of his nose: “Okay, hit me.”

“Have you… ever been in love?”

The question is so far out of left field that Steve actually forgets about his headache for a minute. “Yup,” he says. “Nancy Wheeler, first semester of senior year.” He makes a gesture like a gun going off. What he’s saying is true, but it’s still a surprise, how easy it is to say it. Like it’s nothing.

“Oh my God,” Robin scoffs. “She’s such a priss!”

Well, she’s not wrong, exactly, except that she is, in the ways that matter. “Turns out, not really,” he says. 

“Are you still in love with Nancy?”

“No.” It’s the easiest thing he’s ever said.

“Why not?” Robin asks.

He can’t help but wonder why she’s so curious. If her mind is going down the same path as his. It’s a comforting thought, but there’s also something that feels… off, about it. He shakes his head, shakes the odd thoughts out. “I think it’s because I’ve found someone who’s a little bit better for me,” he says. She is, she’s ten thousand times better for him than Nancy ever was. “It’s crazy. Ever since Dustin got home, he’s been saying, you know, you gotta find your Suzy, you gotta find your Suzy…” He trails off, pinching his nose again. He loves Robin, he _knows_ he loves Robin, but this still doesn’t feel quite right. 

“Wait, who’s Suzy?” Robin says.

“It’s some girl from camp, I guess his girlfriend,” Steve sighs. “To be honest with you, I’m not even 100% sure she’s even real. But that’s not… that’s not really the point, that doesn’t matter. The point is, this girl, you know, the one that I like…” 

He likes her, he _does_ like her. “It’s somebody that I didn’t even talk to at school, and I don’t even know why.” 

That’s true. There’s nothing about that that’s a lie. Why didn’t he talk to Robin? Why didn’t he realise how much cooler she was than any of his other friends? “Maybe because Tommy H would have made fun of me, or I wouldn’t be _prom king_ … it’s stupid, I mean, Dustin’s right, it’s all just a bunch of bullshit anyways. Because when I think about it, I should have been hanging out with this girl the whole time. I mean, first of all, she’s hilarious, she’s so funny. I feel like this summer, I have laughed harder than I have laughed in a really long time.”

That’s true as well. That’s what he’s been thinking about, with Nancy, because Nancy doesn’t laugh very often. And yeah, sometimes he’s wanted to laugh with Billy, but he can’t let himself do that. He goes on: “And she’s smart. Way smarter than me. You know, she can crack top-secret Russian codes, and, you know, she’s honestly unlike anyone I’ve ever even met before.”

And she is. She is.

Robin doesn’t answer, stays silent for so long that Steve starts to worry. “Robin?” he says, tapping on the dividing wall between them. “Robin, did you just OD in there?”

At last, her voice comes through, quiet and deep. “No,” she says. “I am still alive.”

But she sounds all wrong, so Steve slides under the divider, because he wants to see her face. More than anything, he knows she’s supposed to be in his life, and he wants her to be okay. 

“The floor’s disgusting,” she points out drily, as he settles himself opposite her in the stall.

He shrugs. “Yeah, well, I already got a bunch of blood and puke on my shirt, so…” She laughs, and Steve takes a breath. “What do you think?”

“About?”

“This girl,” he says, and suddenly he needs to know what she thinks. Why does he feel so strongly about her without wanting to kiss her? He needs to know, needs to understand, and Robin’s so smart. She can answer him.

She says, eyes wide: “She sounds awesome.”

“She is awesome,” Steve says. That’s easy, because it’s true. “And what about the guy?”

“I think he’s on drugs, and he’s not thinking straight,” Robin tells him.

It would be so easy to go along with that. But it’s not right. He doesn’t know if it’s the drugs, or everything else they’ve been through, or maybe just Robin herself, but somehow Steve feels like he’s seeing things the way they’ve always been for the first time. He’s realising how right Dustin was, when he talked about popularity being a bullshit construct, and he’s realising he’s dealt with things _wrong_ , up until now. “Really,” he says to Robin. “Because I think he’s thinking a lot more clearly than usual.”

“He’s not.” It’s almost crushing, how certain Robin seems to be. “Look, he doesn’t even know this girl. And if he did know her, like _really_ know her… I don’t think he’d even want to be her friend.”

“That’s not true, no way is that true,” Steve says, leaning forward. And he means it.

Robin seems to be shrinking, just a little, right in front of him. “Listen to me, Steve,” she says. “It’s shocked me to my core, but I like you. I really like you. But I’m not like your other friends, and I’m not like Nancy Wheeler.”

“Robin, that’s exactly why I like you,” he argues, but she’s not done.

“Do you remember what I said about Click’s class? About me being jealous, and like, obsessed?” she asks.

He nods. “Yeah.”

She bites her lip, and suddenly he realises she’s trying to tell him something important. His heart, unaccountably, is thudding in his chest. “It isn’t because I had a crush on you,” she says slowly. “It’s because… she wouldn’t stop staring at you.”

“Mrs Click?” he says, although he knows that’s not right.

Robin laughs humourlessly. “Tammy Thompson,” she says. “I wanted her to look at me, but she couldn’t pull her eyes away from you and your stupid hair. And I didn’t understand, because you would get bagel crumbs all over the floor, and you asked dumb questions, and you were a _douchebag_ , and you didn’t even like her, and I would go home and just scream into my pillow.”

“But,” Steve says, and he knows, he _knows_ he’s not quite getting it yet, but he wants to understand, “Tammy Thompson’s a girl.”

“Steve,” Robin whispers.

He stares at her. “Yeah?” And she waits. And then, like an actual ton of bricks falling on his head, he gets it. “Oh,” he says.

“Oh,” Robin says.

“Holy shit,” Steve says.

“Yeah, holy shit,” she agrees.

Holy shit, because Robin… Robin _likes girls_. And Robin is the most awesome person Steve’s ever been lucky enough to meet, which means liking girls doesn’t make a difference to her being awesome or not. And if Robin can like girls, if that can be okay for her… 

Does that mean that maybe, just maybe, Steve doesn’t have to hate himself for liking Billy?

Because he does. He does like Billy. Holy shit. Steve _likes Billy_.

Billy Hargrove. Billy Hargrove, who beat the shit out of him, and stole his crown, and generally walks around being an asshole about 94% of the time. But that’s not all he is. He’s also… funny. Funny like Robin is funny, a wise-cracking asshole who makes fun of Steve but also makes Steve laugh. And he’s sexy. And he cares more than he lets on. 

He cared when he saw that Steve was upset. He offered him a chance to talk about it. And when Steve didn’t want to, he tried to give Steve what he wanted anyway. Even though what Steve wanted was to hurt him.

Holy shit.

Steve’s an asshole.

“Steve,” Robin says, and he looks up sharply. “Did you OD over there?”

“No,” he replies. “Just… just thinking.”

She looks away. “Okay,” she says.

Jesus Christ, and now he’s being an asshole again, because she thinks he’s… what, thinking less of her? Like that’s fucking possible. It’s so clear now, what they are to each other. She’s his best friend. His best friend. He says, as casually as he can: “I mean, yeah, Tammy Thompson, you know, she’s cute and all, but, I mean… she’s a total dud.”

Robin looks shocked. “She is not.”

“Yes, she is,” Steve insists, and his mind is still racing, full of his revelation, but it’s so nice they can be like this with each other. “She wants to be like, a singer, she wants to move to like, Nashville, and shit.”

“She has dreams!” Robin exclaims.

Steve rolls his eyes. “She can’t even hold a tune!” She opens her mouth to argue, but he can’t. He can’t hold it in. She’s been honest with him, and she’s his best friend, and he wants to be honest right back. Robin deserves that. He says: “Robin.”

She tilts her head. “Yeah?”

“It’s not… it’s not just you.” His mouth feels dry. He could never have imagined this, telling _anyone_ the truth about Billy, but suddenly he wants to. He _wants_ to. Because Billy… Billy is important.

“What’s not just me?”

Right, because it might be clear in Steve’s head, but he’s not actually making any sense. “I don’t think I like you that way,” he says.

She stares at me. “Weren’t you _just_ telling me—”

“Yeah, but… but…” He sighs. “There’s someone else I like. Maybe even…” He stutters over his words. He can’t say _that_ , not even to Robin. “I just didn’t want… didn’t want to think about it.”

“Okay,” she says, clearly confused. “Not Nancy Wheeler?”

Steve shakes his head. “Not Nancy,” he says.

“So who?”

He swallows. “We’ve… me and this… this _person_ , we were kind of together, over the winter. But I was an asshole, and now I guess we’re done.” It doesn’t do it justice, that explanation, but he can’t manage more right now. Can’t begin to explain the way Steve has spent months pretending to himself that Billy was just a fuck, when real feelings have been creeping up on him the whole time.

Robin is watching him. “Steve,” she says quietly. “When you said it’s not just me—”

“It’s Billy Hargrove,” Steve says in a rush.

There’s a silence, in the bathroom, and Steve feels like he might throw up again. He’s just realised who Robin _is_ , his best friend, and he doesn’t want to lose that. He _can’t_ lose it. Surely… surely he won’t lose her, over this? After what she’s told him?

She says, voice measured: “Billy Hargrove? The basketball guy?”

“Yeah,” he says.

“Okay,” she says slowly. “I mean…” She stops, apparently thinking about it. “You were… you were _together_?”

He nods. “Yeah.” He drops his head. “Kind of. No, I mean, we were. We were together.” He just hadn’t realised it the way he should.

“And you messed it up by being an asshole?”

“Yeah,” he says again.

She has a considering look on her face. She says, voice sarcastic: “Well, I’m shocked, Steve.”

He blinks at her. “What?”

“Yeah, shocked,” she carries on. “You messed something up by being an asshole? Is that even you? I mean, really, doesn’t sound like you at all.”

“Um, excuse me, at least I have good taste,” Steve objects. “I mean, Tammy Thompson? She’s practically tone-deaf, have you heard her?”

He warbles out his best impression of Tammy Thompson’s poor singing, and Robin laughs reluctantly.

“She does not sound like that,” she says.

“She sounds exactly like that, that’s a great impersonation of her,” Steve replies, and then they’re both laughing, and it’s okay, it’s okay. It’s okay that he told, it’s okay that he likes Billy, it’s okay for him to be who he is. He doesn’t have to hate himself for liking Billy, and he doesn’t have to be angry anymore.

It’s okay. Robin says, through her giggles: “You know, this is so unfair. You had both of them, if you wanted them. Tammy Thompson _and_ Billy Hargrove.”

“Tammy Thompson sounds like a muppet. She sounds like a muppet giving birth,” Steve says, and Robin dissolves into a fit of laughter again.

“Well, at least out of me and Tammy, _she’s_ the dud,” she points out, and Steve laughs and gives her the finger, and then they start singing again, and when Dustin and Erica come to find them Steve feels lighter than air.

*

There’s pain, so much pain, and it’s all Billy is really conscious of. He knows there’s a lot he’s forgotten, memories the monster has taken away from him, but honestly he’s grateful for it. Grateful not to remember what his hands have done without his permission, grateful not to know who he might have hurt or killed.

Sometimes there are flashes. The girl, the girl that makes the shadow so angry and so vengeful - El, she’d called herself - he remembers seeing her, talking to her, except the words weren’t his and they seemed to frighten her. She had looked at him with a strange expression, almost as though she pitied him, and he’s too far gone to mind it.

He doesn’t mind much of anything any more.

He’s in a car, revving the engine, and his sister is watching him. She’s in a different car, but she can’t get away. He made sure of that.

His _body_ made sure of that. The monster. 

Billy wants to scream. But he can’t. He can only watch.

The monster is _terrifying_. It’s huge, and disgusting, and looks like it’s been made out of melted flesh - and Billy knows better than anyone that that’s exactly what it’s made out of. He wants to scream, wants to run away, but he can’t. He can’t do anything except sit in his car watching, to make sure the humans don’t escape—

No. That’s the shadow talking. They’re not just humans, they’re real people, and they’re trying to fight. Billy knows there’s a lot he doesn’t understand, but the monster has shared a lot of its memories with him, since it’s been living in his brain, taking over. There’s so much he knows now that he didn’t know before.

He knows about the other place, the shadow world. He’s _been_ there, although he didn’t realise it at the time, when the shadow took him. He knows it’s not the first time the shadows have tried to cross over into the real world.

They haven’t succeeded yet. And part of the reason why is Steve Harrington.

Steve. Thinking about him is the only thing that keeps Billy fighting, keeps him sane, if he can be called sane here in a tiny corner of his own head. Steve knows about the shadow world too. Steve’s fought the monsters before. Steve, and Wheeler, and Byers, and all those stupid kids, and Max—

If Billy could cry, he would be, at the thought of Max. If he’d been a better brother to her, maybe she would have trusted him with this. But he wasn’t, and she didn’t. 

That’s why the kids locked him in the sauna. They knew what he was facing, even though he didn’t.

Steve didn’t tell him. Why would Steve tell him? They weren’t together in that way. They didn’t trust each other like that. Billy just wishes they had. 

He’s the last to know. And if the monster gets its way, he’ll be the last to die, too.

At least Steve is far away from this. He might have been involved the first time, the second time, but this time he’s not; Billy’s been looking out for him, terrified that the next time he’s aware of his body it’ll be because of Steve. Because Steve is there in front of him, and the shadow is forcing him to choke the life out of him.

Would his body obey that command? Billy can’t imagine it, can’t imagine any possibility of hurting Steve, but then he’s done it before, hasn’t he? The monster is so much stronger than him.

He couldn’t live with himself. But he would have to. Nothing is within his control anymore.

But he doesn’t have to worry about it, not now, because Steve isn’t here. He’s probably off at the fair, carefree, unaware that Billy’s world has crumbled around him. He has no reason to think about Billy anymore.

Billy thinks, as his body presses a foot on the accelerator, speeding towards the car his sister is sitting inside, that he’s about to kill Maxine, and he’ll never see Steve Harrington again.

Neither of those things, as it happens, turn out to be true.

*

Steve crashes his car into Billy’s, and for a moment he’s terrified he’s killed him.

But he didn’t.

“Get in!” Nancy yells, and Steve obeys, he listens, but he wishes he hadn’t. They drive away from Billy, and Steve can’t leave him. Not again.

They go back.

He throws fireworks, in some vain desperate attempt to get the Mind Flayer to leave El alone. The fireworks distract it, for a bit, but it’s not enough.

It’s not enough.

Billy has her, or the person-shaped thing that looks like Billy, and Steve’s heart is breaking into a thousand tiny pieces.

El had explained, back when they’d all been together in the mall. They’d all taken their turn to tell their stories, so they were all on the same page. So they all understood.

“It has him, like it had Will,” El said, gritting her teeth through her pain. Steve could feel Robin looking at him, but he knew if he looked back he’d break. “It’s… _inside_ him. But it’s stronger than it was with Will. He doesn’t have any control.”

“But we can stop it, right?” Max said, asking the question before Steve could. “We can help him?”

El raised her hands. There were tears in her eyes. “I don’t know. The reason it’s stronger…” She looked at the floor. “It’s because he’s lonely.”

“Lonely?” Robin repeated softly.

And so El had told them. Told them what Billy’s life had been. She talked about his mother, beautiful and gentle, but ultimately not strong enough to stay with him. And she talked about his father.

Max had tears splashed down her cheeks. “I didn’t know that,” she said. “He’s… Neil, he’s angry, and mean, but I didn’t know he hurt him.”

But Steve should have known. He remembered the marks on Billy’s body, the vague excuses, and he knew he should have put the pieces together. Should have realised that someone like Billy didn’t get to be so tough without going through something bad. 

El looked at him then, and he knew she knew. She didn’t say anything. But there was reproach in her eyes, and Steve looked away. Beside him, Robin squeezed his hand. 

And now Billy has El. Lonely, heartsick Billy, who Steve treated badly and threw away, and now it’s too late. Steve can see it’s too late. He’s gone, nothing more than a shell, an empty vessel for the monster. They’re all going to die, and Steve can’t think of anything worse than to see emptiness and hatred on Billy’s face while he kills him.

El touches Billy’s face. She’s speaking, and Steve can’t hear what she’s saying.

He hurls another firework, watches green sparkles explode against the Mind Flayer’s flank. “Billy!” he yells. “Billy!”

Robin touches his arm.

But Billy looks up.

He stands. His eyes meet Steve’s. And they’re not the eyes of a monster.

“Billy,” he says, so quietly that there’s no way Billy can hear him. But it is Billy, down there, because somehow El has managed to bring him back to himself, and that means he’s in danger, and he needs to get out—

El screams as the Mind Flayer’s enormous - what, arm? Tentacle? - reaches down for her, dripping with gore and covered in sharp fangs, ready to rip her into pieces. Mike is calling her name, and Steve’s stomach falls down to his knees—

Billy turns and reaches up, and holds the monster back.

“Billy!” Steve roars. He races for the escalators, has to get down there, because Billy needs _help—_

A thick, fleshy tentacle rips into Billy’s side.

Billy bellows in pain. Max shrieks. Steve is numb, because it isn’t happening, it can’t be happening, he’s pelting down the stationary escalators—

The Mind Flayer buries another claw-laden appendage deep into Billy. He’s groaning, his whole body shaking under the onslaught, but he’s not crumbling the way Steve would if it were him. His eyes flutter closed, but his arms stay steady, holding the monster back. Protecting El.

And then four or five more tentacles are whipping through the air, stabbing into Billy’s body from every side, and Steve _screams_ , running across the debris-covered floor of the mall, but he’s too late, he’s too late—

Billy is on his knees, blood staining his white tank, his eyes wild, but still he roars in defiance. Because Billy Hargrove is _brave_. He’s brave, and a better man than Steve deserves, and—

And the Mind Flayer plunges claws straight into Billy’s chest, and Billy crumples to the floor.

“ _BILLY_!” Max screams, as the Mind Flayer withdraws its terrible tentacles from Billy’s body. It’s just him, lying alone on the ground, blood seeping out underneath his body, and finally Steve reaches him.

He doesn’t even care if the Mind Flayer kills him. He’s beyond caring. But the Mind Flayer is staggering, falling, and Steve figures that must mean that Mrs Byers and the Chief have managed to close the gate. It doesn’t matter. None of it matters.

Billy lies still, and Steve throws himself to his knees beside him.

“Billy,” he says, and his hands are on Billy’s shoulders. “Billy, come on, man, stay with me, okay? _Billy_.”

Max kneels down on the other side of Billy. “Billy,” she says. “Please, wake up—”

Billy’s eyes roll, and flicker between the two of them. Max, his sister, and Steve - Steve, who probably isn’t anything to him anymore. Except that he is. What they had _mattered_ , and Steve is so tired of pretending like it didn’t.

“Billy,” he says, and he’s geared up to say it, to tell Billy he’s important, he matters—

Billy coughs. “I’m sorry,” he says, and Steve doesn’t know who he’s talking to or why he’s saying it. Sorry to Max, for being an asshole brother? Sorry to Steve, for beating him up? Sorry to everyone, for being unlucky enough to be possessed? Whatever it is, he doesn’t need to say it, because he has nothing to be sorry for. Not anymore.

“That’s my line,” Steve says softly, and Billy gives half a smile—

And slumps, all life gone from his eyes.

*

*

*

Billy wakes up. He wasn’t expecting that.

The first thing he’s aware of, more than anything else, invading every part of him, is the _pain_. Every inch of him hurts, from the throbbing in his head to the calluses and blisters on his feet, from walking around with no shoes on. His chest is the worst of all. It’s a mass of pain, so excruciating he almost wishes he hadn’t woken up at all. 

Almost.

The shadow hadn’t let him feel pain, hadn’t wanted the distraction. Pain means he’s alone in his body. Pain means his mind belongs to him again.

It takes a herculean effort just to force his eyelids to open. When he manages it, he finds that he’s staring up at a brightly lit ceiling, so clean and clinical that he guesses immediately that he’s in a hospital.

Maybe he’s not going to die, after all.

Billy’s not expecting to feel relief at that, but he does. He’d been prepared to die, prepared to be torn apart by the monster, and he’d accepted it - but finding out he’s alive is… good. 

It’s not the only thing he feels. A tear slides down his cheek as he remembers. All those people… everyone his body took for the monster’s use, everyone his hands are responsible for destroying. He killed them. He killed them.

 _It wasn’t me_ , he thinks fiercely, and it’s true, but he can’t help but feel a crushing guilt. Would someone else have been stronger? Would someone else have been able to fight the monster sooner, before all those people died? 

Billy blinks the tear away. His chest _hurts_ , his breathing shallow and rattly, but he’s alive, he’s _alive_ , and there are too many people who can’t say that, so that’s all that matters. That’s what he has to focus on.

“Billy?” The voice is soft, breaking a little, and he recognises it instantly. Maxine. Slowly, excruciatingly, he turns his head towards the sound of her voice.

She’s sitting in a chair beside his hospital bed, her red hair in a single braid behind her head, and deep hollows under her blue eyes. She looks like she’s been crying. She looks exhausted, and Billy feels a stab of irritation towards whoever is supposed to be looking after her. Susan, Neil, any of the so-called adults who should have kept her safe and away from all this mess. Haven’t they been making sure she’s been getting some sleep?

His throat is dry, his voice croaky. “Max?” he rasps out.

“Oh, _Billy_ ,” she half sobs, and her small hands find his arm. Somehow, it doesn’t hurt so much when she touches him, like having her close by soothes something deep inside him. 

“Max,” he says again, and he tries to smile. His face is aching. “You okay?”

Her eyes widen, and then she gives him a look like maybe she’d be hitting him if he wasn’t already so beaten up. “Me? Oh my God, Billy, look at _you_!” Her voice sounds more normal now, and he’s glad of it. He’s not sure he could take her bursting into tears on him.

“Yeah, takes more than that to take me out,” he says, as nonchalantly as he can around the crushing pressure on his chest and his raspy, sick-sounding breaths. 

She rolls her eyes, but she’s got a smile on her face. It makes her look young, and pretty. “You’re an idiot,” she tells him.

Well, he knows _that_ already. “Did… the monster…?”

“We sent it back,” she says, and her hand tightens around his forearm. “It’s gone, Billy. We closed the gate. It’s going to be okay.”

She’d said that before, back in the sauna, and he hadn’t believed her. Hadn’t been able to bring himself to have hope. But she’d been right, because he’s here, and so is she, and—

“Did…” He can’t bear to ask, because what if Steve didn’t make it? Billy’s last memory is of seeing Steve’s face, hovering above him, so close to the monster - what if it had gone for him? It had known how he felt about Steve, _tortured_ him with it—

Max strokes his arm. “Everyone’s okay,” she says. “We all made it. Because of you.”

Billy closes his eyes briefly, torn between the undeniable relief - and the guilt. Because that’s not true, is it? If it hadn’t been for him, no one would have been in danger at all. He’s the reason Heather is dead. He’s the reason _everyone_ is dead.

“My fault,” he says thickly.

“Billy, _no_ ,” Max says, so firmly he opens his eyes again, staring at her. “None of it was your fault, okay?” She holds his hand, and he squeezes tight. “You know, my friend Will, the Mind Flayer took him over last time,” she says, a little hesitantly. “He couldn’t fight it either. He tried to kill his own _mom_.”

Billy processes this. “Mind Flayer?” he repeats, after a few moments.

She shrugs. “That’s what we call it.”

He knows - he knows there was a last time, knows Max was involved. He saw flashes, through the mind of the shadow - the _Mind Flayer_. But it’s difficult to put the pieces together, and at some point he’s going to make her explain it all properly. He needs to understand. Right now, though, what she’s saying… It’s comforting. He’s not the only one to have been taken over, _invaded_ by the monster, and her friend couldn’t fight it either.

Her friend is one of the good guys. If one of the good guys couldn’t do it…

Another tear drips down his face. His hand tightens around Maxine’s.

“I should get the doctor,” she says. She pauses. “Billy.”

He raises his eyebrows painfully. “Yeah?”

She bites her lip. “Um… Steve is here. Just so you know. He’s getting coffee, but he’s pretty much been here the whole time you’ve been asleep.”

“Steve is here?” Billy’s heart is suddenly thudding, and unfortunately, he appears to be hooked up to a machine that’s registering it, because a wild beeping starts sounding from somewhere to his right. He wills himself to calm down. It shouldn’t mean anything, it shouldn’t matter… but it does. Of course it does.

“Yeah,” Max says. He’s grateful that she doesn’t comment on the machine going nuts. She tilts her head. “Do you want to see him?”

Billy tries to nod, but the movement sends a stab of pain down his spine. “Yes,” he says. Then he asks curiously: “How long have I been out?”

“Nine days,” she tells him. “Steve’s been sleeping here. Hopper kicked him out a couple of times, but he kept coming back.” She hesitates. “I didn’t know you were even friends,” she says at last. 

Billy licks his lips nervously. “It’s hard to explain,” he hedges.

“That’s what Steve said,” Max says. “He said it was up to you to tell me, if you wanted to.”

“He said that?” The machine beeps again, as Billy’s heart pounds. Steve said he wouldn’t mind Billy telling Max? Like… like what they were doing isn’t something he wants to keep buried, a secret from the world?

Jesus Christ. He’s ready to cry again. He bites his tongue, forcing the tears back.

She nods. “Yeah, but… I kind of figured it out, I think.” There’s a silence, and then she says, quietly: “I wish we talked more, before.”

“Yeah,” Billy says. “Me too.”

Max squeezes his hand once more, giving him a smile, and then she releases him. Billy watches her as she walks out of the room. He feels lighter than he has… well, ever, probably. The idea of having a good relationship with Max has never been within the realm of possibility before, and yet now it feels like it’s easy. 

They’re not so different, really.

For a few minutes, he’s alone, and he takes the time to ease himself up a little, so that he’s sitting up more against his pillows rather than lying down. He still feels guilty - it’ll take more than this to eradicate the feeling - but he knows he _shouldn’t_. He doesn’t need to. It’s not his fault. Max doesn’t think it’s his fault.

That’s more of a relief than she could ever know.

Jesus Christ, he’s so fucking sentimental. He blames it on the Mind Flayer.

Then the door to his hospital room opens, and Steve Harrington steps inside.

Billy’s first thought is that he looks a mess. There are bruises all over his face, and one eye is swollen; it’s even worse than he looked right after Billy laid into him, that day so many months ago. He wonders who put these bruises there. Whoever it is, he hates them. Only Billy gets to leave bruises on Steve Harrington.

He’s silent as Steve approaches, coming up to the side of the bed. There’s some emotion on his face that Billy can’t place, like he’s sad and happy and guilty and relieved all at the same time. The only thing missing - the only thing he doesn’t look like he’s feeling, the thing Billy is _so used_ to seeing on Steve’s face - is anger.

Steve doesn’t look angry at all.

He says, his voice raw: “ _Billy_.”

It’s hard to answer. For a moment or two, Billy just _looks_ at him. He’s so goddamn beautiful.

He works his jaw. “What are you doing here?” he croaks at last.

“I’m here for you,” Steve says simply. The words hang in the air. They must be true - why else would he say them? - but they don’t make sense. They don’t tally with what Billy knows to be true. 

“You hate me,” he says guardedly.

Steve looks to the side. “I don’t,” he says. “Shit. I really, really don’t.”

But Billy can still remember the furious, venomous look on Steve’s face, as he’d glared down at Billy and forced an apology out of him. “I disgust you.” Somehow, being as banged up as he is makes it easy to be clear, in a way he hadn’t the whole time they’d been fucking.

“No, you _don’t_ ,” Steve says instantly. “If I’m being honest…” He reaches up, running a hand through his hair. Billy has to concentrate on his breathing to stop the damn heart monitor from giving him away. “To be honest, Billy, I disgust myself. But it’s not you, you know? It’s not you.”

“Sure seemed like me, pretty boy,” Billy says. He’s making an attempt at his usual flippancy, but it comes out thin and he knows it. 

There’s a scraping sound as Steve pulls over the chair Max had been sitting in. He sits, close enough that if he reached out Billy would be able to touch him. It’s probably good he hurts too much to try. Steve says: “It took me a really long time to figure out it wasn’t… it wasn’t wrong.”

“Fucking me?” Billy’s words taste bitter in his mouth.

“Fucking a guy,” Steve replies, and Billy is silent.

Is that what Steve has been wrestling with? Jesus Christ, he’s thought of practically nothing else since they started whatever the fuck it was they were doing, but that never even occurred to him. It never even crossed his mind that Steve might have a problem with liking a _guy_. Billy had been so sure it was tied into liking _Billy_.

Because why would anyone want to be with Billy? Who wouldn’t question their sanity, if they found themselves fucking Billy Hargrove on the regular? He had no reason to think it was anything except personal. But all this time, it’s not been about Billy. Or maybe it has, but not… not _totally_ about Billy.

It’s been about _Steve_.

He says slowly: “And… now?”

Steve fidgets. “I… went through some stuff.”

“Stuff,” Billy repeats sceptically.

“Yeah,” Steve says. “Stuff. Shit happened, okay? And I realised… I realised if you died, and I never got to tell you the truth, you know, I was going… going to feel shitty about it for the rest of my life.”

His face, behind the bruises, is red. Billy realises he’s holding his breath, and he lets it out in a long rattle. He says in a measured voice: “But I didn’t die.”

“Thank God,” Steve says, and there’s so much emotion in his voice that it takes Billy aback. 

Jesus Christ. He bites his tongue again, but there’s no taking back the tear that escapes, rolling down his face. He knows Steve sees it, but he doesn’t comment. “I know there’s a lot of this shit with the… the Mind Flayer, that you went through before,” he says carefully.

Steve nods. “Yeah,” he says. “That night at Jonathan Byers’ place, you know, when you… when—”

“When I kicked your ass,” Billy supplies drily.

Steve flushes. “Yeah, well, it was all going down that night,” he says. Billy considers this. That… actually makes a lot of sense; he knew things had happened around that period, of course, but knowing that night had been related to the monster makes things settle in his mind.

“I guess me showing up must have fucked shit up,” he comments.

“Actually… not really,” Steve says, and against all odds, there’s a tiny smile on his face. “I can explain it all properly another time, but I was supposed to be keeping the kids out of danger that night, you know, while Hopper and El and everyone else were on the front line, but they wanted to get involved. I said no.”

“What the fuck did they think they could do?” Billy exclaims.

Steve laughs. “They thought they could walk into the Upside Down and set fire to it,” he says.

“Jesus,” Billy says. He frowns; the motion hurts. “The Upside Down?”

“Yeah, it’s like… the other world? Where the Mind Flayer comes from.” Steve shrugs, looking a little self-conscious. “That’s what the kids call it.”

Billy fights a smile. “Okay, so what did me showing up have to do with it?”

Steve actually huffs a little laugh at the question. “Well, I said no, right? No way was I letting a bunch of middle-schoolers head into hell with a lighter, no freaking way, they were benched. But then you… well, you knocked me out, and when I woke up I was in the back of your car with Max driving.”

“What?” Billy actually sits up a little at that, and his spine creaks. “Max _drove my car_?”

“Jesus, Billy,” Steve says, looking concerned. “Lie down, okay?”

Slowly, Billy obeys. Steve is standing up, hovering, and he _cares_ , he cares that Billy’s in pain, and suddenly Max driving his car doesn’t feel like quite the travesty it had a moment ago.

“So what happened?” he asks.

Steve shrugs. “They drove me to the Upside Down. It was too late to stop them then, so we went in, set light to the place.” He pauses. “If we hadn’t done that, El and Hopper would probably have died.”

There’s a stark silence following his words. All this time, Billy and Steve have been doing… whatever it is they’ve been doing - fucking, talking, becoming _something_ , and Steve has been dealing with this. He’s had this knowledge with him, and he’s been alone with it. Alone apart from a handful of eighth-graders.

No wonder he was fucked up.

“Billy,” Steve says.

Billy looks at him. He looks… soft. Concerned. Guilty. “Yeah?”

“Can I…” He trails off, but he’s looking down. At Billy’s _hand_. Like he wants to touch it.

Minutely, Billy moves his hand towards Steve. And Steve reaches out, curls his fingers around Billy’s. He feels warm, and Billy’s heartbeat begins to slow. His breathing evens out, like he’s relaxing, and he hadn’t even known he was tense. Just from Steve holding his hand.

“Billy,” Steve says again. He hesitates. “I’m really sorry.”

“Shit, don’t,” Billy says hastily, but Steve cuts across him.

“I’m serious,” he says. “I’m really, really sorry. I was a fucking asshole. I was so angry, but not with you. I was dealing with a lot, and I took it out on you. And I shouldn’t have. I’ve pretty much hated myself for it ever since.”

The way he’s talking, it’s careful, and deliberate, and Billy realises what he’s doing. He’s recreating the apology he forced out of Billy, he’s evening the playing field, opening the door to… to whatever it was they were before.

Billy’s heart leaps. The monitor beeps.

The ghost of a smile whispers across Steve’s face.

Billy bites his tongue, hard. He can feel his face tightening. He says: “Okay.”

“I should have been paying attention,” Steve says. 

“Paying attention?”

Steve nods. “Yeah,” he says. “I was so… so in my head, you know? I don’t even know. I feel like I was walking around in a fog, but I swear to God, I’m seeing clearly now.”

He has no idea how to respond to that. He’s not… not _mad_ at Steve, and really he’s not sure he ever has been. Especially now, now that he understands what Steve’s been going through and how alone he must have been feeling. Beating himself up for being into guys, dealing with the aftermath of his brush with the Upside Down, and having absolutely no one to talk to about it. He wishes Steve could have talked to him, but he gets why he couldn’t.

But he can now. Billy squeezes Steve’s hand. 

Steve says hesitantly: “If I promise not to hurt you again - and not to let anyone else hurt you - do you think—?”

“Yes,” Billy says instantly. Then Steve’s words register. “What do you mean, let anyone else hurt me? I thought the shadow was gone.”

“It is,” Steve says. He flushes, but there’s an odd, steely look on his face. “I meant… I meant your dad.” 

Billy looks away, but he doesn’t let go of Steve’s hand. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Steve says. “Like I said, I should have been paying attention. But I am now, okay?” He pauses. “Wait, did you say yes?”

Billy looks back at him. “What?”

“You said yes,” Steve says, and there’s a smile on his face. No, not a smile - a _grin_ , a hundred-watt grin lighting him up. “You said yes.”

“Okay, Harrington, no need to get mushy on me,” Billy says, rolling his eyes.

Steve pinches his hand. “I hate when you call me that,” he says lightly.

Billy pinches him right back. “Yeah, well, I hate when you make me take my clothes off in your fucking living room,” he says, voice challenging.

“Yeah, I get that,” Steve says seriously. “So how about we don’t? I mean, you know, we could actually talk about it. What we like, and shit.” He grins again. “Since this is a thing, and all.”

Billy blinks at him. His heart is pounding, the machine beside him going crazy, but it’s in a good way. Like it might actually burst. “Jesus, Harrington, are you sure this is really you?” he asks, and it’s a joke, but also not one.

“Yeah, it’s me,” Steve says, and fast as lightning, he darts forwards, and his lips touch Billy’s.

He draws back, and he’s so goddamn gorgeous that Billy can’t cope. 

“Don’t cream your pants.”


End file.
